God and My Right
by Chanse Lowell
Summary: AH BxE September 1544: Henry VIII is old, suffering from bouts of ill health, obesity, a busted leg, and more importantly, a council that never listens to him. He's stuck in a loveless marriage, and finds the pretty laundress, Isabella, a refreshing voice of reason. Unfortunately, his half-brother, Edward, seems to hover around her, protecting the lass from his intense pursuits.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_September 1544_

"The King Returns!" the heralds announced throughout the castle.

Isabella Swan continued to boil the laundry. Her job was never completed.

"Come down from there," Anne Hartley, one of the ladies in waiting, demanded.

Isabella stood on the step and stirred.

"I think the royal procession will take no heed if one royal laundress is missing," Isabella said. She hid her accent well. She knew what might befall her if she let her origins be flaunted.

"They will indeed. The entire castle is supposed to be present. There are no exceptions, by order of his Majesty, King Hen—"

"I know the name of our great sovereign," Isabella snapped. "I'll be down forthwith. Start without me, and I shall meet you there."

Why did Lady Hartley think it was her responsibility to order others about? Isabella knew what her job was, and she also knew she was insignificant.

The best part of her job was she had access to the royal closets and to their privy chambers. It meant she was trusted, could touch and see all the sumptuous royal clothes and sample of their plush textures. She reached inside her jar next to the implements and brushes meant for the thick cloths, and pulled out the key to his royal majesty's chamber.

She would have to hurry and put in the last of his clothes before he returned. Most likely the king would be tired and want to rest. She should have placed these clothes in their rightful place yesterday, but the queen demanded her attention. Catherine Parr was notable with her fashionable presence and suspected the king might return soon. Her dresses had to be immaculate, and the silk brocade clothes had to shine.

Isabella flexed her fingers. They were stiff from all the brushing of the royal clothes yesterday.

She sighed heavy and full, then looked down at her shabby, simple attire. Today she was so tired when she awoke that she grabbed the first pair of clothes she could find, taking no heed to letters that had been received of late from the king himself, stating his return was imminent.

King Henry was notorious for exaggerating his arrival. How many times had Isabella seen the royal procession delayed because Henry was feeling unwell?

Isabella grabbed the key and tucked it between her lips. Then she gathered his thick padded jackets, his doubloons, vests and capes and cradled them in her arms.

She ran through the halls up to his chambers. Her hand trembled as she unlocked the door. Once through the outer chamber, she breathed easier.

After she made her way through two chambers and then arrived at his closet she doubled her pace.

The trumpeters outside were blowing their horns.

_Lord be with me! He's here already!_

She stumbled into the closet, tripped and landed on top of her load of clean clothes.

Isabella rolled off the pile, and the moment her eyes scrutinized the clothes, she could see her job here would be over. There was a rip in one of his finer coats, dirt already ground into his green and gold vest and there seemed to be some kind of animal hair clinging to his black velvet robe.

"Damn these skirts!" she said under her breath.

They were too long and she scarce had a moment to alter her own clothing since she was so often handling the royal wardrobe.

She took a few heaving breaths and went about picking them up one at a time.

The least damaged clothes she attended to first.

She placed the first three items in their designated spots and brushed them off with her fingers, in case they did get dirty.

Hopefully the king in his fifty-second year of life would not notice a minor spot of dirt here and there.

But then even if his eyesight was less than perfect, the courtiers surrounding him would notice.

"I do not have the time to go back and rebrush these!" She scowled at the clothes.

Perhaps he would choose some of his newer items. He used to be known for giving away his clothes after wearing them only once, but in his older age he was more prudent and judicious with his wardrobe.

Isabella gave that credit to his wife, Catherine.

She was a humble queen even though she had expensive tastes. But there was not much waste in the castle since their marriage a year ago.

The fact Isabella was hired at all was a testament to the queen's prudent ways.

Catherine was keenly aware of Henry's wandering eyes, and she, the queen, made sure to only bring older ladies than herself in, as her current ladies-in-waiting.

Isabella was one of the few younger than Catherine.

But as the royal laundress she had little reason to ever come across the king or garner his attention.

As a widow, she was also considered less desirable, though it didn't stop Henry from marrying two of his wives, both named Catherine, and both outliving a previous spouse.

Isabella wiped with her sleeved arm at her misted brow.

The clothes were heavy and cumbersome.

After she finished with the next two vests that looked presentable, she went to the torn garment.

How would she explain this?

Perhaps she could take it to the tail—

"May I ask why you are standing in my way, mistress?" a deep booming voice said behind her.

She startled and jumped, dropping the damaged item. Her teeth slammed together and her shoulders hunched up.

She'd be banished. Henry would dismiss her forthwith.

She turned slowly around to face the king. Her expectation of finding an angry, red faced, stodgy old tyrant was shattered.

All she heard was incessant gossip about how fickle and temperamental Henry was.

This overweight man was sweating like she, but his slate blue eyes were gentle, and held a pool of good humor.

He chuckled deep in his throat when she picked up his clothes and handed them to him.

She curtsied and wiggled her way past him without a word.

"Since you are here, and you seem to take disagreement with these clothes, you can help me remove the soiled ones I am already wearing. I mean to nap, and you, my dear lady, may take all these clothes down with you to the royal laundress," he said.

His eyes twinkled with mischief.

Her breath caught like a clasp in her throat. Undress his royal person?

He must be in jest.

"But _I_ am the royal laundress, and it wouldn't be proper to . . ." She lost her pattern of speech and thought, as he began to disrobe directly in front of her.

She gasped.

The first item he removed was not his coat—nay. It was his breeches.

And even though he was a portly man, well fed in his many years as monarch, he had comely legs. They were shapely and filled with power, but this still had her ill at ease.

He smirked. "That was the easy part. These hose are more difficult. I need assistance. Are you competent to do it, or must I replace you with somebody less attractive and maybe less in need of employment?" he asked with a taunting edge to his tone.

She failed to answer, but sucked in her lips instead.

Dutifully, she stepped to his side, and finally said in the faintest voice possible, "Sir, as your laundress, might I suggest we remove the coat first so I may better see what I am attending to while I remove your stockings off your backside?"

He laughed heartily, and a wave of shock ran through her entire body like a dousing rain.

She realized how awfully crude that sounded.

"I'm so . . . Beg your pardon, your majesty, I didn't mean . . ."

He gripped her hood and yanked it off.

"You may speak whatever you like. I find it a good wake for my soul, for none listen to this tired old man anymore. I weary of false ears and prattling tongues pretending to do my bidding. If they ever heard a word I truly said, this country would be much different, and so would my war in France," he said, handing her the hood. "You might be able to see better without this falling in your eyes as well." He smiled.

The gentle tone, the sadness and heartfelt goodness of his words made her insides feel warm and smooth.

There was nothing scary about this man. In fact, he reminded her of her own father—a tender soul and loyal husband.

She eased her way around him and slid his coat off.

It smelled of spices he'd burned on the boat.

"How weary you must be after your war and long travels," she said.

He sighed heavy and long. "The war was tedious and not as prosperous as I had hoped. But it did give me a reprieve," he said. "And I came to some decisions. My half-brother will be here soon. He'll be taking on many duties to relieve me when I am sore vexed with my cantankerous leg. There is talk of me making him my heir, but I am uncertain that is the course I will go."

Five groomsmen came into the room and diverted their gaze quickly when they saw he was being attended to by a woman.

This was unheard of.

"Leave while I converse with my laundress," Henry's voice commanded with a powerful air.

They bowed as they retreated, and she cringed at the thoughts of how much scandal and pain the rumors they would spread, would affect her.

**A/N:**

**This is gonna be a short story, but a lot of fun to delve into if you like Tudor stories.**

**Thank you to my pre-readers, boo1414 and Krystal Augstine, and my beta Anakin Smom. They've been such a terrific help. This story is already completed, so I'll be posting faithfully each Monday and Friday until I've posted it in its entirety.**

**Chanse**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

She remembered all too well how many women he was rumored to have had in his bed, and there was a previous royal laundress that swore she birthed his daughter.

It was never proven; none of them ever were, with the exception of Bessie Blount.

No matter. Isabella was impervious to idle chatter from lazy tongues with nothing to keep them busy.

Besides, she had no time for courtly romance and silly games men played to get under a woman's skirts.

"You were saying, Sire?" she asked, grasping at the neckline of his broad vest.

It was damp with sweat, but it also smelled sweet of herbs and spices.

"I was speaking of how nice it was to be gone and get away from things that trouble me here," he answered.

"I am aggrieved to hear you were not anxiously awaiting the return to one of your homes," she said, "but as your servant, I have to disperse this fact: we are most happy you've returned safely."

He craned his head over his shoulder. "If you lie . . ."

"I never lie. Stirring the royal clothes is the only toiling and spinning I ever do," she said. She smiled and something sparked in his eyes.

It wasn't quite lust, but it looked akin to respect and longing.

She averted her gaze. Did he think she was flirting with him?

Oh Lord no! She would never . . .

When she brought her gaze back to him, he was smiling with good humor.

"If I had one person on the royal council that spoke as plainly as you, I would be able to do much good for my people," he said. His chin tipped up so she could grab at his thick jeweled crests hanging from his neck.

She was amazed he could carry around this much weight from the jewels, the chains, and those heavy clothes.

He must be a wall of muscle under his layers of fat.

A thicker lump formed in her throat.

He was once handsome and an athletic like no other, until he had his jousting fall.

His mangled leg did not seem to hamper him when it came to bedding women though.

Now he was said to brood at tournaments over what he wished he could attend to himself and then take the first young lass he could find back to his bedchamber, where he would have his way with her until he could do it no longer and would weary with sleep.

"How is your leg? Do you tire from standing here so long? Might I bring you a stool to sit on while I remove your shirt?" She blushed at the thought of seeing his naked chest. He might think she was enamored of him if she had to look on his flesh.

"I tire not from standing here, but of the people that demand my ear. But they can wait. I have you here to keep me company, and I find great satisfaction in that." He reached out and grabbed both her wrists. "If I repulse you, you must say so now. I have no shame over this body. There is little I can do when I can barely walk without the damned aid of a walking stick, but I have urges like any other man. This body does not always know that it disgusts women. And you are very attractive. I fear when you lay your hands on my bare skin, I will want you. And you have a choice. I would never force myself on a woman, but I can already tell you are lovely to kiss and hold and those duckies are most winsome, indeed." His eyes went from calm and a little tired, to heated and filled with a blazing fire the likes she'd never known before.

He stared brazenly at her breasts. They were not duckies to her.

Only Henry would be brash enough to call them that.

Her late husband rarely took her to bed or even looked at her ample bosom. In fact, there were times she wondered if he got his fill elsewhere with mistresses she was unaware of.

"Majesty, I cannot say how I will feel, for my husband died three years ago. He rarely laid hands on me. So little in fact I never had chance to conceive. I may be older than previous ladies-in-waiting you have seen in court, but I am no babe. I think I can handle seeing you, but if you want to touch, I ask that you receive my permission first." She dropped into a curtsy. "For I am here to do a job, and nothing more."

He let go of her right wrist and tucked his thumb under her chin. He lifted her gaze to his.

"May I start this with a kiss? Then I think I shall be able to tame my manly urges."

"But what of the queen?" she gasped.

"The queen and I married as a matter of convenience. My children needed a mother, and she was much in your situation, without posterity of her own to dote on. So she took my children under her supervision as her own. They love and admire her, and she's fair to them, but I do not love her. In fact, we have agreed to a divorce. We will not let anybody know. It is none of my kingdoms' affair. They have had enough scandal, and I need their faith behind her as queen."

She released a puff of breath. "Why are you allowing me to be privy of this private affair?" She was a stranger to him!

"Because I saw that look on your angelic face when my groomsmen left. You were worried they would spread gossip to defame your name. Right now they are likely telling everybody you are my new mistress. I have had no mistress. At least not since—"

"Bessie," she finished his sentence. And what he likely meant, was he had not had a steady mistress in quite some time, but he still found his way between many a maiden's legs.

He nodded and smiled. "You believe me?"

"I do. Somehow I think I always knew the court was malicious in their opinion of you. Most of the ladies here wish to be in your bedchamber. They lie to flatter themselves and give themselves a perceived advantage." She blinked and hoped she sounded sincere as she exaggerated her beliefs about him. How long would he keep her here? Her stomach clenched and she wanted to run and hide. But instead, she attended to her current duty and began unlacing the top of his shirt, and he kept his left hand on her right, albeit loose and pliant so she could move.

It seemed so unnatural undressing him as if he was her steward, or even her husband she cared for. They were strangers.

The odd things was that Isabella craved being necessary and needed by a man, so in a way, she derived some small satisfaction from helping and feeling trusted enough to do this for him. She missed doting on a man. Her late husband rarely let her do anything for him. It was only ever her father she was allowed to serve. He depended on her to take care of him in his final days.

Those were fulfilling moments even if they were for a sad, gray reason.

"And I say, if they are going to pave the walkway with pernicious lies about you, give them something good to talk about. Kiss me, Isabella. You can tell them all how it felt to have my beard tickle at your chin, your lips, your . . . _beautiful, round duckies_," he breathed. His eyes flicked down to the top of her chest once more.

Something inside her shriveled up. He shouldn't be gazing upon her thusly. His lustful tendencies should be curtailed.

Her heart pounded like the waves she could hear outside. Oh dear God, he was intent on kissing her. What if he tried to touch her breasts? What could she do to stop him?

"I will kiss you, but I am not good at knowing how to please a man with my mouth," she said, hoping it would discourage him from doing this thing.

He made a quiet, moaning sound and her cheeks heated. She imagined her face being the darkest shade of red—darker than any crimson cloth in his closet when she realized how that had sounded. She had no intention of using her mouth on him anywhere at all; she was referring to a simple kiss and nothing more. "I did not mean that the way it was voiced." Her head sunk forward.

"Darling girl, I like you. You do not apologize for being you. In fact, I need more of this talk." He shifted in front of her, and she peeled the rest of his shirt off.

His belly was big, but it didn't bother her. Her father was a hefty man as well. In some ways this was good. It made him more of a vulnerable man, not a scary king that could ruin her with a word if he chose to, though she knew she was still in a dangerous position.

Her heart beat in a tempest of crashing waves now as she took in the sight of his hairy, expansive chest. He was a tall, massive man, and his chest made him look like he could crush a whole army of infidels. It would be easy for him to overtake her and steal what he so desired.

Those stiff fingers of hers went numb at the sight of his red chest hair. It made him appear almost animal-like in nature.

Her late husband had no hair at all on most of his body. She never thought on it much, but this was . . . a little frightening. There was something so primal and scary about the hair covering his chest. It announced his virility and need to take a woman between his thighs with or without consent.

"If I kiss you, will you . . . Will you at least kiss me back?" he asked in a timid, lost voice.

It gave her the power to look back in his eyes. Maybe if she did this quickly, he would dismiss her and forget he ever saw her.

"If I kiss you back, will you let me . . . get back to my duties?" She took a shaky breath and her toes curled.

"Let you _what_, my lady? Do you tire of my presence already?"

She sucked her lips back in again to keep quiet. Her head shook. Oh, but she was woefully inadequate to say the right things to escape all this.

His hand circled around her wrist, pulled her hand up to his chest. He laid her palm flat over his heart.

"You see that you have a power over me. See how my heart gallops in a hunt to simply taste you—sample of your sweetness?" His voice was thick and heavy with desire, but there was another emotion swirling and overriding it all. It was that of compassion.

Did he realize she was scared?

That thick chest with hair made her insides quake in a tumult. "My Lord, I beg of you . . ."

He smiled and raised an eyebrow in question. "Far be it for the king of England to deny a gentlewoman such as yourself, but I simply must have this."

His hands let go of her, and then in an instant, she was tucked into his chest. It was firm but gentle. He grunted like he was in great agony.

"Are you . . . Did I hurt you and do something wr—"

Her words were swallowed up by his mouth as it encompassed her. It began rough, strong, then tapered off.

His soft breath pelted her cheeks between each dab of what were now feathered kisses.

She fisted and grasped onto those chest hairs and he groaned. Why was he still kissing her?

Would he ever let go?

Right as they seemed to taper off, he took a breath and then those kisses grew in power and skill. It was if he warred with his need to be a beast and his sensibility over being gentle for her benefit.

_No, no, no!_ Her body screamed and said to flee.

Each time his lips touched hers a great chasm opened in her chest—filled with a crushing wave of defeat. He wanted her, and there was nothing she could do to deny him. She relaxed into his hold, realizing the futility of trying to fight him off.

His fancy would wane, and this would end.

She'd go back to boiling the laundry and it would be a distant, but jarring memory.

His hands wound their way from her back, up her ribs and to her hair. He tugged and freed her locks until they landed around her shoulders.

She was told he never looked at women with dark, near-black hair. He preferred blondes and reds. After Anne Boleyn, his taste for dark beauties vanished. So why now had he decided to look upon and touch _her_?

Catherine Parr had brown hair, but it was light in color, and wavy.

Isabella looked too similar to Anne with long, straight dark hair and striking dark eyes against her pale skin.

What more could she do to repel his advances?

He let the kiss fade away and then he sighed.

"This is nicer than any trip could ever be," he said with a haunted look.

He was stooped over, his tall frame curving around her. His forehead rested on hers.

He closed his eyes as if savoring every moment with her.

Her breath hitched. He was heavy but that was not nearly as vexing as trying to attain a reasonable excuse to leave his presence.

"Should I depart now? Do you want your groomsmen to help you uncover the rest of yourself?" she asked, her soft voice breaking.

"What? Abandoning me already? You seem the lady that finishes her tasks, and does her job well," he chided.

She chuckled. "I am that lady you describe, but your stockings?"

"You've seen your late husband's manly flesh, have you not?'

She nodded.

"And what did you think of it?"

Her eyes flew up like curtains being drawn in haste. "I mustn't speak of that—of him." Her hand flew to her mouth.

"Why? Do you think his appendages will come to you in your sleep if you mention the departed?"

She giggled a nervous laugh. "No."

"Then tell me. Women fear to speak their mind, but I know what it's like to have nary a soul listen to me. Speak your mind . . ." He waited and there was patience in his doleful eyes.

He was speaking truthful. "I thought it . . . satisfactory."

"Come, come. Do not string me along like your laundry on lines. Tell me true. Did you like what you saw the few times you saw him?"

"Yes, I did, but I—"

"Your husband—I knew him. He was probably in your bed less than he should have been because he preferred the company of men. He also liked to gamble to excess. Tell me—do you gamble?"

"My husband was sodomized?" she cried in shock. She backed away from him. Her stomach roiled, sickened by the thought of George being . . . No! He was a follower of Christ!

He nodded and smiled. "Frequently, and he liked to do the same to others. It's nothing in courtly life to find men of that nature. I have never been inclined to do that, but then I have a great appetite for female flesh." His eyes roamed over the length of her.

"Why did nobody ever share this with me? Why was I the fool, never to know of his predilection for men?" Her eyes flew around the room like she was trapped.

"Why would somebody be cruel and tell a widow her husband was sinning against God and his wife?" He started to remove his stockings, and she turned away. "I could use the aid of a woman that is obviously not afraid of the truth."

"But I am a chaste and true woman. I touch only a man I am bound to through God."

"I've heard those words before, and I tore apart my country's' faith to have that woman."

She gasped in indignation that he would compare her to the woman that was referred to as the great whore of this country. "I am not Anne," she said, and turned around, her eyes narrowed to dark slits.

His body was bared before her, but it mattered not. What she cared for was that he saw her as someone without morals.

"I do not mean it as an insult. God and my right—I will find love, and even though it is late in my life, and I'm no longer the beloved Prince I once was, I will see if you are such a lady to take my heart and treat it with care." He waved to the door. "You may take your leave. Send in my groom of the stole. Tell him I retire to bed for a while."

She slouched on her way out the door. His groom would come in here and know she saw the king naked.

"I enjoyed our talk," she said before she exited completely.

"I enjoyed much more than that, and I'm sure you noticed. I would love to someday hear how the might of my manly flesh compared to your late husbands, since he craved not a woman's touch, and I desire yours greatly." His voice was like a jaunty song, a dance to make her heart fly out of her chest.

She slipped out his chamber and knocked into a tall, intimidating man with hair the color of autumn leaves before turning completely brown. It was neither red nor brown, and she could see some resemblance to Henry, but his eyes were green, rather than blue.

"Out of my way, woman. The king has called for me, and he does not like to wait!" he bellowed.

"Apologies, my lord," she said and curtsied then scuttled out of his way.

His sword clanked at his side and as she watched him disappear into the king's chambers, she wondered why she had never heard of him having a brother before now.

**A/N:**

**Henry VIII's great grandfather, Owen Tudor,entered the service of Queen Catherine of Valois as keeper of the Queen's wardrobe. He was kind of her tailor and her butler in a sense. After the death of her husband, Henry V, she lived with her infant son, King Henry VI, before moving to Wallingford Castle early in his reign and taking Tudor with her.**

**Hmm… Something fishy was going on there… Yep, it's exactly what you're thinking.**

**She and Owen Tudor had a torrid love affair and were said to have secretly married at some point. They had 6 children together, and their children's legitimacy as claimants to the throne was constantly questioned. It was one of the reasons later that Henry VIII was so adamant about having a son as an heir. He wanted to solidify his claim to the throne along with his future dynasty.**

**No documentation survives of Catherine's marriage to Owen Tudor in 1429. Parliament passed a resolution in 1428 forbidding dowager queens to remarry without the king's permission due to her wicked way of running off without permission and marrying someone clearly beneath her station.**

**Owen's and Catherine's son, Edmond, gave birth to Henry VII, who later won the crown from Richard the III. Many balked and said Henry VII's claim on the throne was weak, but he was a tyrant in many ways, so he found a way to maintain control and keep the throne. One of the reasons the people didn't rebel against Henry VII was because of who he took the crown from. Richard III had slaughtered his own two, nephews. These young princes (I believe they were 8 and 10 years old but I can't remember for certain) who were to take the throne, never made it since they disappeared and were only found actually in the last few months—that's how well their corpses were hidden. The people were outraged and during the battle at Bosworth, his own soldiers in his army turned on Richard III, thus basically handing over the crown to Henry VII, even if he wasn't much better in terms of a monarch.**

**As you can see, Henry VIII has quite a colorful heritage and this story, while farfetched, is not that far off base. Man, I love me some juicy Tudor's. Their history is more dramatic than any soap opera could ever be. And I want the real stuff!**

**Huzzah for men in codpieces!**

**Chanse**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Henry was in a jovial mood the next day. He roamed around the grounds, attended to matters of state, and spoke with each of his children in turn, starting with his youngest to his eldest.

Isabella found herself going in circles, trying to catch glimpses of him wearing the garment she tore yesterday and hoping to keep out of his eyesight. What if he caught her spying on him and his temper befell her?

He was said to roar like a mighty lion and throw things whenm in the foulest of moods.

She shivered at the thought.

But now as she watched from a safe vantage point, he seemed to wear it with pride to her utter astonishment.

Maybe he had yet to see the blemish on his clothing?

She went back to her daily chores and though she was safe for now, she still was fighting off nausea.

A moment later she snorted to herself. Women were usually only nauseous while with child, and she, Isabella, the laundress, had not known in a man in quite some time.

No, it was the King's attentions making her stomach bunch and quake.

Now, Queen Catherine, she was said to have fits of the stomach today as well. The gentlewoman kept to her chambers, and it was voiced through the halls that she was unwell. Some suspected she might be with child.

It seemed unlikely after what Henry had told Isabella yesterday.

Marriage of convenience he had said. It sounded like he did not visit her bed often.

A knot of horror yanked at Isabella's gut. For some reason she was horrified with the thought of him kissing anyone, let alone taking some woman to his bed. It was unpleasant having his mouth on her yesterday and she saw his great, girth of a waist.

How he ever found a way to be one with a woman was something she tried very hard not to ponder on.

She brushed her skirt flat and ran back to the laundry. There were matters to attend to. Henry brought back a lot of soiled clothing for her to freshen and clean.

With great care, she went about stroking each piece back to life.

She inhaled and was assaulted with his scent.

It was nice, but held no spell for her.

She was careful to dress nicer today in case he did try to find her. It was her duty to at least be presentable, and she did not want him to have any ought to pay her any more attention than to tell her to clean something he wore.

She could disappear and hold no notice of those around her.

Her head bobbed. Work and be quiet.

Yes, she would disappear.

Only, she wore a really pretty mint green dress today that she had been told in the past made her eyes look sinfully divine.

Oh, God, why did she wear this?

Her nerves made her jump each time somebody walked in the garden outside her back door, and then she would consequently crack the door and peek to see who it was.

Please let it be anyone but the king . . .

As she stooped over she was met with a sudden snap of a head and green eyes, peering at her.

"Eeee!" she squeaked and shut the door.

She tiptoed back over to the boiling clothes and stirred them, biting her lip and hoping he had not really seen her.

Maybe he felt a draft and nothing more?

As she stirred, the unmistakable sound of a door opening, caused her to hold her breath and clamp her hand tight over her stirring implement.

"So, you're the little imp that's stolen my brother's attention," the low, husky voice said.

There was a shifting sound behind her, like he'd moved something heavy.

When she turned, he was sitting on a stool, staring at her, smirking.

"Yes, I can see why he's smitten, but you're really not anything more than a servant." He folded his arms over his chest.

"I agree. Please tell the King your sentiment. I'm sure he will be happy to take heed of your words," she said and turned back to her work.

Her hands shook. Those eyes . . . They were like a hawk's, focused on its prey. It made her feel more exposed then when Henry had made her undress him.

What was with the men in his family? Did they disarm all women this way? Was this how Henry bedded so many?

"I rather doubt he will listen, since he's already talking to me of marriage with you."

She gasped and turned back to him, her skirts swishing just barely out of reach of the fire in the hearth.

"But he shan't do that! What of the goodly queen?" she asked.

His eyes lit up and he chuckled. "He loves only the illusion of his marriage to her, nothing more. She holds no real sway with him. Why else would he marry some woman so below his station? No, he has done with marrying for love . . . Well, until you," he said, sounding disgusted. He motioned at her with a flick of his wrist.

"I have done nothing to warrant this. I shall not marry ever again!" she said, stamping her foot.

Her skirts ruffled and his eyes traveled across her body the same way his brother had.

She tucked her arms around her waist in a protective way.

As if that could save her if the knave wanted to lay hold of her.

"Yes, and Queen Catherine Parr felt the same way—look where she is now," he reminded her.

She bit her lip and strangled back the tears threatening to shake loose. "But I . . . I do not love him."

"And that matters?" He rolled his eyes.

"It does to me," she replied.

He stood and paced, slowly making his way toward her.

"Is there no one that can help me?" she mewled, her voice soft like the whisper of a breeze through silver petaled leaves on the trees out in the garden. "What shall I do?"

"You can run and hide, but he is a mighty hunter. He would probably find you." He reached out and tucked a stray hair back into her hood.

Oh dear God, his touch was fire. It made her tremble and her knees lost the strength to stand. She leaned back toward the wall, hoping it would somehow catch her if she fell.

"What other options have I?"

"None. You do as you are told. That is all you can ever—"

"But he will kill me when he tries to give me his seed, and I vomit in disgust! I barely took to his simple kiss when he had his shirt off!" she cried, and her hands swung out and gripped him.

She hugged him and sobbed on his shoulder.

"Shh . . . Milady. 'Twill be all right." He patted her hair but it was still and devoid of much feeling.

"How will it? He means to put away a capable, lovely queen for me!" She gripped him harder, her fingers digging into his vest.

It was thick and well padded, so he probably felt little of the pressure, but it made her sick inside to think she was groping this strange man.

This was two days in a row of close proximity to men with red hair, tall, pillar-like statures—only this time, she was the one thrusting her body on the man.

Oh no! Did this man, the king's brother, feel the same way she had yesterday?

Was he cringing and hoping she would fall away from him as soon as possible?

Did he think her vermin?

Yes, he had to. She was a servant, and he already gave her a look and sounded like he would more likely kiss a goat, then want to hug her.

She loosed her arms off him, fixed her hair and fussed at her dress.

"I am most sorry, sir. I did not mean to—"

"It's quite all right," he said, and his fingers drifted down her cheek, covering a tear that had found a way down it.

She bit her lip and looked up at him through her moist lashes. "You will not tell the king this happened, will you?"

"Henry would enjoy it entirely too much, and besides . . ." he smiled and his chin dimpled ". . . my job is to watch over _him_—not you."

And with that, he swept out of the room, and good thing too, since she collapsed to the ground not more than a second later.

My Lord, he smelled so good and those eyes . . .

She had to fan her skirts out—it was getting hot and damp down there.

.

.

.

The rest of the day, she was on guard, dropping items as her jittery limbs seemed to lose strength.

Of course it wasn't ever him, not since this morning when he surprised her with a visit.

She still had yet to learn that beautiful, intriguing man's name.

But really . . . Why did it matter? It was not for her to know such things. His name would change nothing.

But maybe he'd say a formal greeting to her, acknowledging her as somebody he deemed worthy of a small portion of his attention. Maybe he'd nod his head at her when she came to his chambers, carrying his clean clothes in to him?

So far she had not been given his laundry.

Why? Did he prefer to have his own laundress attend to him?

And if so—who did he use?

"Ahem," the shrew's throat cleared behind her.

Isabella tucked her sleeve back and leaned further over her pot of boiling linens.

Not her—not this wretched woman. Isabella clenched her jaw. Anyone but her would do.

"You are being summoned," Lady Hartley said.

"By whom?" Isabella asked without looking at her. She had not the fortitude to bear a look of animosity from her today. Isabella's heart was fragile. It seemed Henry's brother—the look he gave her—tore at the edges of her ribcage and frayed the edges of what lay beneath.

Had she ever really loved her late husband? Now she questioned it all because a simple gaze from him sent her heart racing and it still had not slowed to less than a gallop.

Yes, her husband had been kind to her, and had given her a comfortable home, but he never looked at her, talked to her like she mattered at all.

And what of the man before George? No, she would not ponder on him. It was very wrong to do so.

She realized she was _George's_ convenient marriage as Catherine was to Henry. Isabella vowed to herself to never be that again.

"The King demands you attend to the tear in his coat."

"But he has a seamstress to do that. I wash, I don't mend," Isabella replied.

"You do whatever the good king asks, and if he thinks you fit to wash his dog's arse, then that's what you shall do!" Lady Hartley said, and threw her head back as she exited like she was queen of the castle.

Isabella stuck her tongue out at her retreating figure.

She grabbed a needle and some thread, and ignored the way her heart dropped into her knees and made them wobble with each step.

The king desired her presence.

When she arrived at his chambers, it was empty.

She found one of his groomsmen and was told Henry awaited her at the dock.

Dock? Why would he be there?

Her brow scrunched tight. Was this allowed? Was she permitted to be near his ships?

Isabella walked in a careful line down to the area where he was supposed to await her presence.

Standing on the edge of the great prow of one of his massive ships was Henry and he positively beamed at her with the most radiant smile, but that was not what stole her breath away.

It was the tall man next to him, smirking with a fiery look in his eyes.

She ducked her head, barely braved one more glance and wound her way toward them until she stood before them. She immediately curtsied.

"Please, join me. We take to the water, and you will fix what you broke yesterday," Henry said.

She gaped at him. "Is this seemly?"

"It is what I want, and you will join me, or I will have you tossed into the water forthwith."

His brother laughed.

She glared at him and pursed her lips.

"I hope you know how to swim," the man said.

She grimaced and he laughed at her expression of revulsion. The Thames was so brown and murky, she doubted anyone could wade through that muck. And that _smell_?

She hoped the king would burn a lot of herbs so sweet incense would pervade the air and drown out that rotting odor.

"Fret not, sweetheart, that water will remain free of your fair skin," the king said.

She looked out across the water so he could not see the grim look overtaking her visage.

Sweetheart? This was a mockery of courtly love.

He maneuvered to the side and helped her aboard.

His arms wrapped around her, forming a circling hug of protectiveness around her.

She was keenly aware of the presence of his brother, brushing up against her skirts from behind.

What did he mean by walking so close to her?

She tried to glance over her shoulder, but the king held her so close, it was impossible.

"I will have more talk of honesty and of manly parts today," Henry teased her.

She turned her eyes to the horizon—the golden hue, giving her strength to carry on. "I am ill equipped to talk more on the subject since my knowledge is limited."

"Ah, yes, but how many women have seen both a king's manhood and a—"

His infuriating brother barked a laugh and then choked on his breath.

Would that she could choke the breath out of both of them for guiding her up onto this infernal boat.

She sighed. "I will discuss whatever you wish if you kindly lower your voice," she told His Majesty, before he said what she thought he might.

No more jests about his manhood or her late husbands.

She would turn so red, he would probably toss her overboard to cool her down.

He limped over to a well cushioned spot and motioned for his men to get the boat out on the water.

His hand patted the seat next to him.

She moved at a sluggish pace and decided she better mend his coat to keep busy, rather than sit next to him as if an equal or somebody he could take a fancy to.

His brother sat behind her.

The second she was lowered, the king growled, "You should never be on your knees to service me, unless we are both agreeable to it."

The roughness of his voice, the innuendo, caused a ripple of fear to race down her spine. She looked up through her lashes, barely breathing. "Sire, I was told my charge was to fix what I broke yesterday."

He lifted her to sit next to him. "And that you shall; starting here," he said, tapping his ringed finger to his chest, over his heart.

She pulled her head back and frowned. "How do you mean I broke you there?"

"How do you mean you did not damage it?"

She fumbled with some coherent thought to counter his accusation. "If I harmed my Lord, it aggrieves me greatly. How might I fix it in a way that satisfies justice and God's laws?"

"You might fix it by coming to my chambers tonight and playing games."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his brother stiffen.

Her mouth formed a tight, frozen line. "_Games_?" she asked, her voice barely floating on her breath. Surely he was not intending to take her to his bed?

"Games of cards, dice, and bets. Unless you had something else you considered worthy of our entertainment . . ." Henry's brows rose and he chuckled darkly.

Her shoulders slipped down with relief. "Of course, Your Majesty, I'd be honored to—"

"And I refuse to believe you'd be honored to do anything at all with me when you speak to me so formally." He took her hand that was free of the sewing items, cupped it in his own and then placed it over his other great palm. "You will call me Harry. We are on my boat, Great Harry, so that means you are worthy of friendship and attention. My friends call me Harry—and you will do the same."

His brother stared at them but said nothing.

"What say you, Edward? Is she not a treasure?"

The man she had known up until now as only his brother, nodded and when his eyes raked over her, they burned into her pounding heart.

"Any man can see she is worth more than any jewel. Isabella, you will speak to me openly, and I will have no more of you looking away when I try to converse with a great lady such as yourself."

"Maybe she thinks you to be beneath _her_?" Edward asked.

She jerked her head in his direction and his brow popped up in what seemed to be pure merriment.

"Could this be a trap, Sire?" Edward added.

Her face shaped into a harsh, tight scowl. Nobody told her what to do. Not even Lady Hartley. Or at least, she, Isabella, never obeyed. It was her right to say no to anybody, and she did not trap men. She lacked the skills and fortitude.

"I shall call you Hal, because you are no Harry to me, though you have a harry chest of the likes I have never seen before," she blurted. She curled her palm over her mouth and dropped the needle and thread.

The two brothers howled in laughter.

She lurched back into the cushions and huffed at how her mouth drove faster than this ship.

Henry let go of her other hand and he slapped his knee. "My God and my right, I am compelled to spend hours with you to hold that wit of yours."

"You say that a lot," she said.

His right brow slanted up. "That is because it is my family's motto, and you, my dear woman, have made me finally understand what is meant by it."

She smiled though she fought it back. It was nice to hear she was good for something other than making two men laugh at her.

And what did she even say that was funny? She could recall only the way Edward's infectious laugh made her heart thump hard.

He was entirely engaging. She looked away, worried the king might see the way she suffered to even breathe normally around him.

Henry reached over and grabbed some spices he tucked into his coat.

"Have some—they will help you ignore the foul smell of the water." He offered her a few sprigs of rosemary and lavender.

"No thank you. I already smell of the laundry, and that is never pleasant." A pang of guilt lanced through her, but if she said yes, it might encourage him. "No need to hide what I am and what I do." She smoothed her skirt down her lap, though there were no wrinkles there at all.

"Was your husband ever allowed to—"

She knew it would be a question regarding marital relations, so she hedged the king in, "No, he was not. And I lived in a way my conscience was comfortable. If you are suggesting I drove him to be with men, then you are wrong; I never turned my husband away when he was in a state of need of me." Her cheeks burned once more.

Damn him. Why must he bring up these sordid topics? And with his brother's eyes incessantly on her; examining her for fault.

Henry grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her to him. "I suggest nothing but that he was a blind fool. You are most beautiful, and very spirited. He was lucky but unaware of it. I know you are a good woman. I do not question it. If I offend you with my tavern talk, you must forgive me." He grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it, then stroked where he left a moist stamp. "It is my way of ensuring I waste no time. I have lived longer than most, and for that I thank God, but I will not last forever. If I want anything to happen with the deaf ears around me, I have to be blunt. I should take care to be more cautious around you, but I am a stubborn man—a mule stuck in his ways."

She smiled and her eyes softened. "I judge not one soul. Nay, it is not my place to do so. I am used to blunt talk, so it is not that."

"Well, what is it that offends my lady?" He bent over some, making his height less noticeable.

"My heart." Oh damn her accursed mouth.

"The very same one I broke in return for mine being damaged?" he said softly. He dipped his head down to look at her levelly.

Her eyes strayed to the quiet man at the king's side. It was him she referred to—him that stole her attention away when he had barely spoken a word or done a thing.

Why did Edward have to be here? She would not have slipped and said that if he had not been standing nearby, and looking like the perfect sculpture of a man God had created him to be.

"If you say it is the way, then it is." She swallowed and lowered her head.

Henry was almost curled around her now, inching closer.

"I insist you tell me, or I'll start discussing how my manly flesh compared to what you knew before."

She swallowed harder. "To the truth of the sky, I have to say my heart has not been the same since yesterday." _When I met him . . ._ "So, yes, I suppose it could be described as in need of repair."

He leaned forward and without asking permission, like she had delineated yesterday, he kissed her.

Only this time he was clothed, and it was much coarser with a roughness about it.

She pressed her palms against his chest, trying to create some distance, and it was not until Edward cleared his throat, that Henry released her.

"Sire?" she asked, breathless and shaking.

"I do apologize. I could not resist you." Henry paused and grinned. "And do not call me Hal. I hate that name."

"I will call you whatever you like if you let me go." Her eyes drifted to her feet.

Edward chuckled and it disrupted her thoughts; her head was murkier than the disgusting water surrounding them, when his scent wafted toward her. Her eyes drifted closed.

Henry released her. She opened her eyes and when she sighed in relief, the king's face dropped. His head turned abruptly away from her.

She had found a way to offend him. Her words and her actions were not meant to hurt him. She simply needed a moment to herself.

She reached over and stroked his arm, feeling awful for hurting him. Her eyes softened. She scooted closer, and she whispered in his ear, "Harry—I am . . . I am sorry, but you make me lightheaded, and I think I will faint. If that should happen, then I daresay the queen will take issue with me."

He swung around and pulled her into his lap.

"God and my right—I will have you, Isabella. You do wreck me, and I have a heart that needs to work so I can rule."

She bit her lip and went silent. What was there to say to such a declaration?

He leaned into her and inhaled her hair. "Tonight you gamble with me, and we discuss your future . . ."

Edward wore a blank expression but continued to stare at her with his penetrating sea-green eyes.

She sucked down what little saliva remained in her mouth, because suddenly, her mouth was dry and she thirsted for more than drink. She needed both of these men to feel okay again, and then she could ponder what to do to escape the king's notice.

**A/N:**

**Thank you to my pre-readers, boo1414 and Krystal Augstine, and my beta Anakin Smom. They've been such a terrific help.**

**This chapter brought up some good questions by my beta. She asked if it was correct for the king to call Isabella milady, and my lady. As a woman, serving in court, it almost always meant they were nobility. It was a great honor to serve in the king's court, and these were highly sought after positions (especially to be a lady-in-waiting to the queen). The wealthy families would fight over and covet, almost prostituting their daughters out for these positions since it would most likely mean they would be in a position of favor with the king, they'd find an advantageous marriage and they'd be well taken care of while in the royal employ. Also, to call a woman milady, or my lady, was very common. It would be similar to calling someone ma'am or madam. It's a respectable way to address a woman in Tudor times.**

**Chanse**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Isabella stepped into what amounted to the lion's den. Ghastly rumors already ran rampant around the castle that she was no better than a common prostitute and that she was found naked and spread out on his bed with his body atop hers.

If they only knew . . .

It hadn't been like that, but she was depraved enough to wish it was that way with Edward.

With each trembling breath, she would imagine his lips on her, his hands gripping her tight and his breath on her neck.

Then she would remember who she was, and she'd hold her head high. This was unacceptable.

She was decent and followed the commandments of God. No man, royal or otherwise, would turn her mind into a cesspool.

As it got closer to late evening, she grew wearier over what she ought to do.

Surely, he was forgetful, and didn't remember his invitation for her to gamble tonight.

She was unused to gambling and would not know how to do it in a way that would please his majesty. She was determined that she would avoid embarrassing him or humiliating herself in front of Edward—if he was there.

But what would it matter if he was? She cared not if he hovered around her the entire evening.

Isabella stared at her dress lying on her bed.

It would be well enough to wear this to the presence chamber for a banquet, but for the king's personal attention? No. It was not good enough; more like something he might use to wipe down his beard after a great feast, not a dress to wear when sitting at his side.

It would suffice then to keep his attention on other more winsome ladies; more capable of tantalizing his mind and his other, more nefarious, carnal intentions.

She sighed, and went ahead and put it on, but as she left her chamber and entered the corridor, she immediately froze.

"Did you hear about that great whore, Isabella? She invited herself to the king's own personal games tonight, and it is said she means to flaunt her affair with the king in front of Queen Catherine herself," a servant said.

"She will be there? Queen Catherine—you are certain?" another servant asked.

"I left her chamber but not more than a few moments ago. She is wearing her finest sapphires and matching dress. I do not recall a time she looked more radiant. She means to show this dowdy maid who has the king's heart."

They both laughed, and Isabella backed up her steps, and then skulked back into her room.

She shut the door, and stared at her feet. Even her shoes were inferior to the ladies-in-waiting, but sapphires?

Isabella was foolish to think a few lilies of the valley tucked into her loosely pinned up hair might help her pass as agreeable enough to be in the same room as Edward or any other noble in the room.

Her lavender linen dress was flattering on her, but it was a plain fabric for a plain lady.

The hardest part about being so simple was when she wanted to be present, to catch somebody's attention, she failed.

It was no fault of Lady Hartley she felt it her duty to tell Isabella what to do.

What had Isabella ever done but be silent and take orders?

It was amazing Edward had ever spoken to her.

Isabella stripped down to her shift, climbed under the covers and pretended not to hear the raucous laughter down the hall from those gambling and enjoying the king's—and his mysterious _brother's_—attentions.

A few times she heard Edward's booming laugh, and it was like he brought a riotous blow to her belly.

Normally she ignored such boisterous, loud voices at night, but tonight it stole her breath and mind away in equal excruciating measure.

Who was he looking at now? Had he danced with someone earlier?

Had he feasted at the side of a great beauty?

When Isabella awoke the next day, she was met in the laundry by Lady Hartley, and she appeared to be in the most foul mood imaginable.

"The Queen has plans for this fortnight, and she needs these garments ready by—"

Isabella groaned, and rolled her neck. "That is fourteen days. It can wait then." She motioned with her chin. "Set them in the big basket over there."

Hartley prowled into the room, one slow agonizing step at a time as if her shoes pinched her entire body tight. "That will not do. The Queen's attire takes precedence over everyone el—"

"God and my right!" Isabella screamed. "You have no authority here. This is my domain! Mine! I will have her wardrobe back to her before she needs it. You've spoken what her will is, now leave before I find some hideous use for you and put you to my employ!"

Isabella could scarcely believe she had said that. She sounded so much like the king it was terrifying.

"Before you think to scream and toss me aside, I would also inform you that Edward—the king's very own brother—has asked that you see to his finery as well. He danced much last night and spilt many a dark drink on his clothes."

Isabella's cheeks twitched as she fought back a frown. She nodded her willingness.

Hartley huffed and her heels scraped with ear splitting sounds as she left.

"Just you think on how you are to behave, because at some point the king will be sick of the way you spread your legs like a dog for him. He gets tired of his trollops quicker than he grows out of his clothes," Lady Hartley said with a sardonic smile then took her leave.

Isabella was tired and her day only started.

Every jeer at her was a mace to her heart even if the whole court was assuming something that never happened.

A few days later, after avoiding any of the queen's ladies or anybody close to the king or his damned brother, she found herself constantly teary eyed.

It seemed her heart might be broken after all.

Edward never sought her out, and never would. She would never hear his voice or inhale his intoxicating scent again.

For all he was aware—she had slept with the king.

What must he think of her?

Her heart contracted violently as if snared in a steel trap.

And the thought Harry might be upset with her for not gambling with him and might dismiss her from being the royal laundress since she had said she'd attend, was a heaviness on her soul she could barely withstand.

.

.

.

Henry waved him in without looking up.

"Your Majesty, I am here to do your bidding. What is it you seek?" the man asked.

Too bold, but Henry was accustomed to it by now.

The clergy were the worst at having ears filled with wool. They never heard him anymore.

He, the defender of the faith, seemed to be nonexistent to them. Isabella listened. She seemed to find a meaning in everything he said.

Edward mentioned the same to him—that she had a shrewd mind.

"I need an annulment," Henry said.

The man spluttered on his wet rasping gasp. "But the marriage was consummated by your own admission and the Queen's, too," he said.

Henry looked up at Gardiner's dark eyes. "We have consummated, and only once. It was a great trial to do that deed, and—"

"But Your Majesty must have more sons—more heirs to solidify your kingdom," Gardiner said.

"God has already made his will known to me. I am to have no more sons. Catherine and I are happy to let the whole kingdom believe she is the woman of my heart. Let them believe it." He paused and hung his head, shaking it a little. "I tore this country apart once before for love. I will not do that again, but I will have love. It will not prevent Catherine from ruling at my side."

"She has agreed to this most wicked abomination of an arrangement?" Gardiner asked, eyes wide.

"Ask her yourself. We spoke the last few nights about it. She's having a grand ball—one I am not invited to. It is for her and my children so they can celebrate their loyalty to each other."

Gardiner listened, finally, but there was a turbulent look in his eyes.

"It is created so I can marry that night in secret and have my real wife in my bed without anybody knowing. Only I leave on procession three days before. I go to Windsor. I marry there, and you will bind us together."

Gardiner's eyes flitted about, his body jerking in spasms as he backed away. "God will not allow this to happen."

"Divorce me then," Henry said with uncharacteristic control and coolness. He was weary of shouting. And somehow he knew his lady would never allow him to act like a petulant child once he belonged to her.

"Nay, my Lord. I burn in hell before I do this sinful act."

"You already go there for your many trespasses against me. Maybe this will be your ladder out." Henry stood and placed his hands on his hips, his legs shoulder length apart. His bad leg was steady for once. "You ask God if it pleases him to have a king that is miserable and detached."

Gardiner continued to back his way to the door, but he was bowing now.

"And after you lie to yourself and to me, again, for that is your way, then you discover how rotted and brown your soul is." Henry sighed. "This is right. This is good. I will not take Catherine to my bed ever again. She is agreeable to the same. Catherine will continue to cherish my children and raise them properly. My Isabella Swan will be a good wife in all the ways I need."

"Mistresses are what kings need," Gardiner huffed.

Henry limped forward and grabbed him by the back of his neck and hissed, "And you think God wants that? A mistress is better than a woman being wedded then bedded by a man that loves her and none other?"

Gardiner's eyes fluttered and his face was pale, drawn.

"Go. I have things to attend to for my quiet, private wedding. I see you in a few days at Windsor, and I will see you treating my new wife well during this time," Henry warned. "If you need anything—you talk to Edward. I leave him in charge while I am away."

He let go of the sniveling coward, and watched him leave.

Henry triumphed. The one thing he was good at was knowing when he had won or lost a battle. In his younger days, even when he knew a battle was impossible to win, he could never admit it.

Now there was no reason to let pride interfere.

Age and his current circumstances, of people pretending he never spoke, taught him to accept losses.

Six difficult wives had also taught him this as well.

Henry would finally marry a woman that could love him in as much as he loved her.

.

.

.

Isabella had surrounded herself with many important things to do to keep her mind away from how much she longed to see Edward again.

The back door to the garden creaked open, but she paid it no heed.

It was never him.

Only once had it ever been him.

There were children playing out there today, and though she enjoyed their splendid squeals of delight as they hid and found one another, it was frustrating they kept opening the door and scaring her.

This time she heard footsteps on the stone work though.

Someone came inside.

"This is not a place to play, so you may go back outside," she said without looking. She minded her work and tended to her duties with a fastidiousness she hoped was admirable.

"I disagree. It is the place I want to play, for it is where you hide from me," a familiar low voice hummed with humor behind her.

Her mouth went dry. She tried to lick her lips, but there was little moisture available. Her shoulders hunched and her head flopped forward like wet, limp, weighted down laundry.

After standing there without speaking a reply for a few breaths, warm hands encompassed her shoulders.

They squeezed and then kneaded. Before another whole inhalation, they slid up the sides of her neck, and the contact of his warm hands on her flesh heated her entire body.

"The king bade me give you this," he said, his lips dangerously close to her ear.

She fought off a shiver and the urge to bunch her shoulders up around her ears.

Something cold and hard dangled its way down her cleavage and then found a home between her breasts.

Her hand flew to a large stone.

She turned, eyes wide to find Edward's gaze affixed on her breasts.

"Oh, Edward—I cannot accept this gift," she breathed and her eyes closed.

When they opened, he was smiling at her, but it was almost a resentful expression, like she had disappointed him.

"You are upset with me I did not keep my word to the king and play cards and play dice and—"

He opened his mouth so she stopped speaking, but instead of speaking, he leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth with a breathy lightness it set her stomach to float away on a butterfly's wings. "Good Lord, woman, you protest about every little insignificant thing."

"I do?" She failed to blink or even breathe—for fear this fire he set to a small portion of her face would diminish.

"Yes, and you obviously listen to entirely too many servants. He was miserable because he longed to see you again, but you misunderstand . . ." He kissed her again but on the other corner of her mouth.

This time he lingered for a moment, and she inhaled deeply, taking his perfect scent all the way in.

"He made do. It was good for him to be told no for once," he said, chuckling.

A lazy grin spread over her face.

He seemed almost proud of her for not attending to Henry's whim.

"Was he angry much?"

"Aye, he was, but he hid it well beneath fits of temper with the games," he answered.

She huffed and tapped her toe. What was she to do about this mess?

"Having a temper is not a fault I find in you. Why do you not get upset like he does?"

He grinned and remained silent.

"You can tell me; I will keep it to myself," she promised.

He whistled for a second and pointed at the jewel now roped around her neck.

Her fingers flew to it once more.

She finally looked down and gasped.

A brilliant, obscenely large sapphire was nestled between her breasts—and for some odd reason, it seemed to make her chest look more ample and plump.

"God, that's not right," she recited as if reading from a book.

He nodded twice, his eyes darkened and his lids were heavy as he stared at the place that occupied the jewel. His light groan and shifting of attitude worried her. Did he think her homely? He gripped his hips then looked as if he was searching while he stalled his explanation. "I admit—I must agree. Jewels like that do not become you."

She tipped her head up and glared at him. Oh, so he thought her unworthy?

Even though she agreed, it stung like a welt after being thrashed by a harsh switch.

He held up a hand and chuckled. "What if I said you deserve more? What if I say you have changed my brother?"

"Then I would say that cannot be true since he barely knows me at all," she replied.

His eyes softened. "Aye, that is what I told him, but not because it was true."

She blinked and gulped. "What is it you are telling me, for I fail to comprehend the meaning of your words?" She slipped the necklace back off and held it in her fist, waiting for the right moment to throw it back at him.

"What if I said you have changed me as well?"

"How so, sir?" Her heart raced and it was difficult to stand in place. Her knees were buckling on her.

"Do you believe a man can find the woman for him when he is not looking?"

She shrugged. "I know not . . ."

"Well, how about this—do you believe a man can find love without wanting it?"

She shook her head. "You speak riddles."

"True." His head dropped and he scuffed his foot on the stone floor, staring at it like he was riveted by the action. "Does nothing move past you without your notice?"

"Many things escape my notice—even the king."

His head jerked up and his eyes were dark, almost tormented.

"So, then you do not seek the king's favor?"

"No, I told you this before," she said, her voice escalating.

"And you meant it?"

Her hand flung out and she slapped the necklace into his hand.

The contact sent a fire racing up her wrist, so she jerked her hand away before it overtook her mind. "I spoke true then and I speak true now! I do not want that man!"

"Then why did you allow him to kiss you on the boat?" He stepped toward her, and leaned in so close, their noses almost touched.

"I tried to push that fat bastard away, and though I am no small, maypole of a woman, I am not strong enough to move that mountainous mass! If you had paid attention, you may have seen my hands trying to push him away," she gritted through her teeth.

"But the words you said—they sounded—"

"They sounded desperate because I was a woman trying to get away with my hide intact. Every woman in the kingdom knows his affections are fleeting and many times, attached to the blade of an ax. I have no desire to be in his heart, in his bed, or in his mind. I wish he would grow tired of me already and forget he ever met me!" She pushed his chest feebly, and he rocked back for a moment then his nostrils flared.

A flash of excitement passed over his eyes, but when she blinked it vanished.

What was happening here?

"Do you feel sorry for him?"

"Yes, I do. I am a sympathetic creature, and I cannot help sorrow for a king that only wants to find love. He finds the smallest pittance of kindness and mistakes it for love. If he asked me directly, I should be forced to crush his spirit and tell him he holds no place in my heart other than as my sovereign lord."

"If that is the truth, then what if I told you a story about a sad, impotent man that had to labor through half a night to make love to his new wife over a year ago?"

"Was it his leg?" she asked, her eyes flashing wide.

He smiled. "No, but I love that you grant him that latitude." A deep breath wobbled his stance a little, and then he puffed out his cheeks. "It was him, it was her, it was all the ways God could tell them they were not really in love and would be childless together. She is beautiful, but his manliness seemed blind to it."

She swallowed a gasp and held it tight in her throat. Just the other day Henry was fully aroused when she, his laundress, merely helped him remove a few articles of clothing and jewels.

"You see what I tell you? And the reason he conversed with you in such an unforgivably rude way? He told me he had to know how honest and chaste you were. Yes, he is a very vulgar man, and he does lust after women, but his body rarely responds like it did with you. He said he could barely keep from pawing at you and begging you to stay in his chambers with him. If I had not been on that boat with you, he might have had his way."

Her cheeks heated at the memory of the boat ride.

He took her hand. "I feel protective of you—but I will not stand in the way if you want him."

"I want him to find another," she said. "So, I _do _seek your protection and aid."

His right eye twitched and he licked his bottom lip then backed away, some inexplicable hostility almost visibly steamed off his back. What had she said now to warrant that reaction?

"You might want to take more care in what you say to him then. He is convinced you are solely as attached to him as he is to you." He settled his weight into his left leg and jangled the necklace in his right palm. "But maybe you toy with him? Maybe there is another you bed when he looks the other way."

"Good Lord—you are an exasperating ass!" She rolled her eyes. "There is no other. No men look to me as a means to warm their bed."

"Oh, men do look for it with you, but maybe you do not see it," he said, dropping her hand and then he backed toward the door. "Perhaps you are not as observant as you purport to be?" he smirked with a jaunty brow.

It made her womanly flesh heat—that look on his face could stoke the fires in the hearth, and did so inside her now.

Her heart fell low into her gut. He was mocking her?

"And what am I to do with this bit of information?"

"You can tuck it between your saucy thighs for all I care. It seems it might be safely kept there since you say it is a place held secret to you alone." He traced his eyes over the spot where the jewel had been moments ago—her nipples tightened. "But tonight you come to dinner—the king demands it. Try to keep that secret trapped between your legs when you dance, and take care not to drop it or it might be trampled."

She scowled.

The infuriating lord _winked and smiled!_

She fluffed her skirts, huffed and turned back to her work.

The crazy men in this castle made her head hurt.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Isabella pulled out her dark blue dress. One of the few items she had saved for and splurged on.

She never considered she'd ever wear it before the king, and especially not before some man she could barely keep from grabbing and kissing.

Edward did things to her blood and body. It was like horses raced through her veins and almost crippled her.

Dinner was going to be vexing this evening.

Her dress was pulled into place; she left her hair loose and decided to fore-go the gable hood.

Why should she try to fit in when it was clear she was not meant to be at Henry's table?

_Rap, rap, rap . . ._

There was a soft tap at her chamber door.

She slipped her shoes on and stumbled over then opened it.

Her breath caught in her throat immediately.

"Sir Edward," she said, curtsying.

"Lady Isabella—you are to accompany me to the king's presence chamber," he said and reached out for her hand.

She took it with a frightening, greedy speed.

He was silent as he walked with a breathtaking fluid grace and kept her hand tucked around his arm.

"How are you related to the king? I can see some resemblance, but temperament wise—you are night to his day."

"Oh, I see." He stopped walking. "So Henry is the light of Christ, and I am Satan's blanket of—"

"No, no, sir, I only meant . . ." she trailed off and looked at the wall, her cheeks heating. Her thoughts ran away with her like her breath she was trying desperately to catch.

"Go on. I long to hear what goes on in that mind of yours." He patted her hand on his arm and smirked.

"Oh, God," she groaned. That smile would make her knees fell her on her ass.

"God is in your head? Do you honestly expect me to believe you sit and pray all day long, down in the laundry?"

"No—I expect you to realize I am cleaning your underclothes of ladies seeds you let spill onto you!" She let go of his arm and backed away.

"Is there a reason you have turned from a sprightly little nymph to a hissing viper? What alarm have I raised in you to elicit such a reaction?"

"You disarm with your wicked tongue and probing eyes," she said and then sucked in a rasping breath. Why did she say that?

Her hands flexed and her legs tightened, begging her to run back to her room and hide there.

"My wicked tongue is used only for pleasant things—I can assure you."

"Like wanton women?" She was unaware of how he spent his time in the company of women, so she baited him, to draw it out of him—trick him into saying if he was attached to another woman.

It sickened her to think of him even looking at another lady.

Bile slipped up the back of her throat.

"Perhaps . . ." His head waggled a bit on his shoulders. His grin was firmly affixed in place.

"Are you pretending to be a gentleman that keeps his exploits to himself?"

He chuckled, low and throaty, like a sensual caress—her legs heated below her plush, thick skirts. Especially between her thighs.

"I pretend nothing except to be interested in Henry's affairs."

"You are not interested?"

"I refer to his business matters—not his wandering eyes. That interests me greatly." He swiped his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger, stretching them out at the corners of his mouth then bringing them together to pinch the center of his lip.

She stifled a gasp. Those lips were as tempting as his eyes.

Her gaze dropped to the ground as she breathed in as deep as she could.

He paused. "Especially when it involves you."

Her eyes bounced back up to his, and her mouth dropped open.

What did he mean?

He grabbed her hand and resumed their walk to the presence chamber.

"I repeat—how are you related to the king? I have heard of no brother before."

He laughed. "No—I dare say you haven't. Henry struggles to admit his father had a wandering eye, too, and that he created a few bastards along the way. As Henry, my brother, accepted his son with Bessie Blount, I was also accepted by his father as his possible heir. Not that I was needed. Henry VII had two strapping, healthy sons. But we see how Arthur fared. Once he was gone, Henry VII panicked and announced me as a legitimate son for the throne if anything should happen to his son, Henry VIII."

I rubbed my chest with my free hand. It ached to hear these words.

"Did you know your father well?"

"Not the one whose seeds I came from. He cared little for me—but then my brother, Henry, says the same treatment was afforded him. Many kings do not trouble themselves with knowing their offspring. They have little time or regard for such trivialities."

"And you said you care not about your brother's business affairs? Why is that?" she asked, matching his brisk pace. He seemed to be speeding up.

Was he tired of her—ready to give her away to Henry already?"

"Because I have no aspirations for the throne."

She stopped and yanked on his sleeve. "What? Why would you say that?"

He stared straight in her eyes and gripped her shoulders. "You said that women in this realm know his affection is fleeting and usually attached to the blade of an ax?"

"Aye, that I did."

"And I realize the same holds true for any blood that seeks the throne, even if it is only a vague interest," he explained. His eyes went hard. "I never wanted to be in line for the throne."

"Then why did you come when he summoned?"

"He can be very convincing," he said, but it almost sounded like a question.

She popped her eyebrow up at him and shrugged his hands off her.

"I needed the money," he admitted, his cheeks coloring.

She smiled. "He bribed you?"

He nodded and they were off again.

All too soon, they were in the presence chamber, and it was bustling with boisterous voices and happy feet, dancing to the gay music.

As soon as Edward presented her to Henry, Edward's hand clamped down on her wrist like he had no intention of releasing her.

She looked to her captor and there was an angry vein throbbing in the side of his neck and he wore a wounded look.

"Ah yes, Isabella. You look radiant, dear heart. But you must take to the dance. There is much food to come out soon, but until then—dance. I must watch you move about," Henry said, shooing her.

"I have no partner, Majesty," she said.

He looked at his brother. "Edward—would you be so kind as to oblige and take this pretty little thing out on the floor?"

Edward nodded and deftly swung her to his other side then marched her out there without a word, his spine rigid and jaw clenched.

Was he angry with her? How had she offended?

He gripped her waist tight and lifted her straight up in the air in time with the other dancers.

My Lord but he was strong and moved with a dizzying ease.

She locked her gaze on his and barely breathed.

His secure grip made her lightheaded and her tummy flip.

"Have I shamed you already?"

His brow crinkled. "Why would you suggest such a thing?"

"Because your pale pallor and flaring nostrils speak to an angry man that has been offended, and since I am the only one you you have conversed with, other than your brother, it seems I am the fiend." She fingered the silky cloth across his broad shoulders. If only she could feel those muscles rippling beneath.

"You have done nothing but attract unwanted attention, but that seems to be your favorite mistake to repeat."

He whirled her around in a circle and when it was time to pass her on and take on the next partner, he refused and kept hold of her.

She gaped at him but kept dancing. This was unheard of!

Her steps faltered a few times and her feet were unsure. She never learned these dances well enough to pass the scrupulous eye of her mother.

Where had that thought come from?

She had avoided thought of her mother for a very long time.

Her mother who married beneath her station because she could not afford to have the man she truly loved. Then when it became more than she could bear, she abandoned her family, hoping to rejoin riveting court-life. When Isabella became the royal laundress she had heard talk that her mother had been trying to win back the king's favor for many years and finally gave up.

Isabella rolled her shoulders back to improve her posture, kept a stiff frame yet relaxed into his hold. He could lead her anywhere, and she would follow.

His eyes were always on hers, and he smiled at her several times when she would miss a beat or turn a wrong way.

"You move like a lithe little fox," he said.

One brow lifted. She clucked her tongue and said, "Meaning I dash away and run in sporadic circles, uncertain of where to place my feet?"

He rolled his eyes and smirked. "Must a man beat you over the head for you to accept a compliment?"

"No, most men do not need to do that—but for you—oh, yes, Lord Edward. You must because I never know which direction you think to lead me with your confusing talk."

He blinked a few times in rapid succession and his mouth hung open. "I confuse you? You run me in circles with the things you say. I can scarcely sleep after I have had a conversation with you."

They clapped and hopped, and her insides were still jumping about at what he said.

She kept him from sleep? _Her_? But she was no one of consequence or of eloquent speech.

They linked hands, swayed and turned and then he had her up against his chest, unlike the other dancers, and whispered, "I will keep you safe tonight. You stay near me and follow my lead—just as we dance now."

"P-promise?" she asked, her voice shaking, her throat constricting. The power in this man was excruciating to be near—the way it creamed her thighs and made her head fuzzy as if filled with soft hay, was indescribable.

"Yes, I do. You take care to heed me. I have a mind to keep you hidden as best I can."

The song ended and they broke apart and clapped.

When she turned in the direction of the king, Henry was flushed, looked sweatier than she, and he waved for her to return to him.

Edward took her hand and paraded her through the room.

Queen Catherine entered the room before they reached Henry, and everyone bowed and curtsied toward her.

The king's visage went from jovial to somber in the mere time it took the candles to flicker as she moved into the room.

Oh, this was beyond encouraging.

Isabella hid her smile by pretending to yawn. She leaned toward Edward and whispered, "Perhaps your services are unnecessary."

"My services will always be necessary to you, madame." He gripped a hand around the back of her ribs, his fingers flirting at the edge of her breast, hidden under her arm. She was flushed and warm, more so now than she had been from the exuberant dancing. He leaned toward her, holding her steady with his arm and walked her toward the king's table, but instead of seating her next to Henry, he directed her down the length of the table and he nodded at the queen.

All three of them sat at the same time, and Henry made a loud, obnoxious kissing sound when he hugged his wife.

"So good you are here to join us!" he exclaimed.

Many welcomed her, lavished her with attention and Isabella shrunk in her seat, grateful for the queen's presence.

"She is most exquisite tonight," Isabella told Edward.

"Aye; that she is, but she pales in comparison to some of the beauty seated at this end of the table."

"Yes, you are very beautiful, but I do not see—"

He turned toward her, swiveling his hips in her direction until his legs were flush up against hers. "I was speaking of you." His eyes hardened and were darker than the coals in the fires lit in the room. "You surround my senses and take me unawares. You steal my breath away, and I intend to get it back from you, for I can only breathe when you are near. And, by God, it is hard to pretend otherwise."

"_Me_?" Her heart expanded and she choked on an exhale.

He gripped her hand under the table. "None other. Isabella . . . I, Christ, you are so—"

"Is this the Isabella that all the ladies have been prattling on about?" a woman across the way asked.

Isabella's body went cold. This woman was the most dazzling creature she had ever seen.

"Baroness Hale—this _is_ the lady to which you refer," Edward said and then he placed Isabella's hand on his lap beneath the table. No one would see it, but now she was the one that would not be able to breathe—rather than Edward, as he had told her was the case. "Isabella Swan, I would like to introduce you to Baroness Mary Alice Hale."

Her dark hair dipped down and Isabella did the same. In that instant, she realized how hopeless she was—trying to look anything like this spectacular woman before her.

The blond man at her side smiled so bright, Isabella worried it meant he could see how inadequate she felt.

"Baron Jasper Hale—this is a surprise. I am shocked to see you tonight," Edward said.

"Yes, well, since my lady wife will be going into hiding soon for her lying in—we thought it best to attend court one last time." He rubbed his wife's belly, and Isabella smiled.

The woman was pregnant.

Oh God, why did she immediately set in on being jealous of some woman she had never met before?

And here this woman was heavy with child, and Isabella had failed to notice because she was too busy cumbering her soul with envy.

"Isabella Swan? Yes? Is that your name?" Jasper asked.

He had an odd accent.

Isabella nodded and murmured a yes.

"I knew your mother well. She was a sweet, wonderful woman. One of the few that failed to play the courtly love ritualistic games well. I supposed it was why she eventually left court," he replied.

Isabella sat speechless.

"She failed to be included and find her way?"

"Aye, that is how I saw it," he agreed.

Isabella picked at her food that was now sitting before her. She was unaware of when it had been placed there, but she did not care.

Was it her lot to be the same—not find a way to fit comfortably with gentry? Would Edward forever be humiliated to dance with a clumsy oaf who never uttered the right words?

But what was she thinking? He was not hers to have. She was here to work, not play and be one of them.

The topic of conversation shifted to the hunt that had been sustained today.

She had nothing to say. What could she add? _Oh, yes, I will be happy to wash out the blood and grass stains tomorrow after your clothes are delivered to me._

Oh, indeed that would be a great way to be included. Her chest was heavy.

She swallowed down a bite of venison and barely tasted it.

Edward shifted next to her, and unexpectedly, his leg was touching hers again. But not simply touching, rubbing up against her repeatedly and most definitely in a deliberate fashion.

It took her a moment to brave a glimpse at him, and when she did, there was a dark, hungry look in his eyes.

He leaned close to her ear, his lips grazed the edge for a second. "Eat—a damsel like you will need her strength tonight. I have plans to exhaust you."

She tried not to jump in her seat as her thighs slammed shut.

"What do you . . . ?" When she turned to him, thinking they'd be nose-to-nose, he was eating as if nothing had just transpired between them.

A ripple of shame ran through her. Why did she think Edward was interested in her?

Surely, she was misunderstanding his words, simply because his voice held this sensual rasp that traveled straight to her knees, weakening them and making them turn inward for the protection of her throbbing cunny.

It was no fault of his own that she felt this way around him.

He had said she took his breath away, but most likely this was the courtly way of flirting and being friendly. She was so naive, she had no way to decipher what was ordinary and what was more.

When her gaze flitted further down the table while she tried to gain her sporadic breath back, another man also stared at her. It was the king, and he was obviously pouting and pining away for her.

When she finished all she could eat, she stood and asked to be excused.

Edward motioned to the king, they were given permission, and Edward dutifully took her hand and led her out of the hall.

"Did you enjoy your meal?" he asked.

"It was satisfactory," she said, keeping her eyes at the end of the corridor, for if she looked at him . . . her thighs would heat at the top, she would lose her way with words and she would want him so desperately she would be pained even worse about the chest.

"Henry was most displeased when I returned the necklace to him," Edward said.

She ran her hand up his arm a little higher. "Is that so? Well, I tried to take your advice and stop confusing a monarch into thinking a paid subordinate reached for a higher station."

"You should have seen the look on his face," he said as if she had not replied at all.

"I am rather pleased I did not have to see it." She tried to rush them, by lengthening her stride, but he gripped her arm and slowed her down.

He turned her right when she should have gone left.

"Wh-why're we going this way? My chambers are the other direction."

"Come, now, I have something to show you," he said. "A way to keep you occupied and exhaust you, like I promised earlier. It is well you ate enough to keep your strength for the exertions you will experience soon enough."

"I will not go to your chambers," she choked out, her throat constricting. Her heart pounded harder than ever. If he touched her once more, she would shame herself by throwing her arms around him and kissing his perfectly pouty lips.

"I know you are too valuable to be treated like a tart. It is a perfectly innocent engaging activity I involve you in," he said. "Or at least one that leaves a little room to sin if so desired." He smirked. "I leave that up to your good judgment, sweet lady."

Before she could balk, he led her outside into the garden.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"This is the way," he said, his voice low and quiet.

She let her eyes wander but they always roamed back to him and his handsome face.

A second later, he had an arm around her shoulders and whispered, "Look up."

She tipped her head back and so did he.

"Have you ever heard of the Greek astronomer, Aristarchus?"

She blinked and said, "No. Astronomy was not included in my education."

"Pity," he said and then hummed. He took a deep breath and held her tighter to his side. "Well, he believed that our planet orbits the Sun."

She snorted. What a silly idea. "Do you believe that to be true?"

"I didn't before, but now . . ." His head fell and angled toward her. "With you near, I believe it is entirely possible."

"Why?" Her brow furrowed. "What can I have to do with the Sun and the Earth?"

"Everything, Isabella, don't you see?" His fingers brushed across her jaw and then plunged into her hair. "You are the Sun, and I circle around you—trying to keep you safe and give you what you need."

"What I need?" She blinked and tipped her head back, her lips slightly puckering.

"Aye—you are the Sun. He believed the other planets orbit the Sun as well; worshiping. And Henry, he's the Moon, trying to cast shadows over you and tell you what you deserve or want. I cannot abide it. It makes me mad with jealousy."

His sweet, fragrant breath washed over her face and she blinked slowly, her eyes feeling heavy and her joints going limp. His fingers massaged at her scalp and his mouth hovered closer to hers.

"And you d-do not think I am worthy of his attention," she said.

"No. I know you are worthy—he is not to have you, though."

"Why?" she breathed, her legs bending beneath her body that now felt too heavy to keep erect even though his hands were firmly around the back of her head, tied up in her hair.

He licked his lips and a wisp of his breath tickled at her mouth.

"He cannot have you. I cannot allow it."

"Mmnnnug," she whimpered a dying moan as he leaned in so close, they almost kissed.

"You are not his." His lips twitched as he stared at her mouth.

She was shaking—like a simpering, insipid fool. Oh, God, why did he have to smell this way and be so beautiful?

She could not have him, she knew this, yet she leaned in anyway, and brushed her lips across his.

The slow movement seemed to make his lips part, and then he groaned a low, heavy, pained sound.

"Christ, Isabella!" he bit out.

Was he trying to keep his mouth off hers?

Her tongue darted out to taste his bottom lip, and then she quickly pulled it back in, sucking on her tongue so she could soak up his undeniably, erotic flavor. Jeeesus! Her eyes slid closed for a moment, and she hummed with deep satisfaction in the back of her throat.

"Oh, dear God, you torment me thus!" he panted, and then she was up against the trunk of a tree, his arms winding around her. He kissed her with so much fierceness she collapsed her weight back into the scratchy bark behind her, barely noticing how the wood abraded her skin.

She clung to him as best she could, but he was making these deep, guttural sounds, and his hips were rocking into her, making it difficult to even stay in place.

Was this happening right now, right here?

Was the king's brother . . . Did he want this?

She could feel his need almost bruising her as he tried to impale her stomach with his cock. He was harder than the trunk of this tree she was up against.

"Isabella . . . God, you . . . I cannot . . . I go mad with want for you," he whispered. His lips traveled across her cheek and headed down her neck toward the tops of her breasts. "I claw at my skin nightly to relieve some of the insatiable desire boiling in my blood for you. But no matter how much I take my manly flesh to my hand, it never goes away . . . It multiplies and grows headier, thicker and unslakable for you."

_Slap him! Make him stop!_

_No! I will not! Kiss him again!_

"How do you have such power over me? I see nothing but you!" he whimpered. "And I am not _that_ man!"

She gripped her hands into his hair and almost shoved him by the nape of the neck until his mouth was on her bosom.

Her legs parted—or maybe he was parting them as he nuzzled in closer between her thighs?

She moaned when she felt his codpiece press into her. He was harder now than mere moments ago, and seemed so much bigger than her departed husband, George.

And George heavily padded his codpiece to make himself seem more impressive.

It was noised that the king did the same.

She refused to even recall the previous man, or think on the form of his penis or how it felt.

But, oh Edward was large. How could she think of anything else but him and her overwhelming desire to seduce him into giving her more?

This was not padding she was feeling. Pure, hardened , virile, male.

In fact, his hand moved down there, and was he moving it aside?

Oh this was . . . She was wet! Her legs rubbed against his thighs and the moistness was definitely seeping through her skirts.

Her female flesh throbbed and ached for him.

"Please . . . I . . . You have to," she said, clawing at her skirts, trying to lift them. "I must have relief—feel you here. You invade and haunt my thoughts too much."

_Crrraaaack!_

Someone was approaching and had stepped on a twig.

She threw her skirts down, and in a blurried rush, she was whisked away, pulled inside the back door to the laundry where she toiled daily.

Her heart turned to ash.

It was over. Their moment of insanity was gone.

He glided over the floor toward the door, pulling her along by the hand behind him.

Several voices rang out in the corridors behind the door.

"I will come to you, after all are tucked in bed, sleeping," he said, turning to her then looked in her eyes. "You will allow me into your chambers."

She nodded and bit her lip. Her stomach churned at his words.

It was disgusting how she had lifted her skirts for him in the garden, and how she now almost begged him to come to her chambers in this instant rather than later.

How could he ever think her a chaste, virtuous woman now?

Tears welled in her eyes, but he was oblivious since he had already turned back around and was leading her at a brisk pace back to her room.

"Leave the door unlocked," he said once they arrived. "Wait for me."

Her cunny pulsed in an angry, disarming way at his words. She rubbed her thighs together.

"Will you? Say it so I know y-your intent," he stammered.

She smiled. Was he nervous?

"I will. I will, Edward," she said. "I die to be with you. I will wait for you forever and my door will always be unlocked for you."

He leaned in, whispered, "Good. For if you do not, I will crash the door in. I cannot stop."

"Ohhh-hhuuh," she exhaled in a long, broken breath.

Her fingers drifted up to his jaw and when he pulled away, her nails raked across his whiskers.

He growled and gave her a startling look—one of a man who was ravenous.

She opened the door, stepped inside, and as soon as she heard his retreating steps, she stripped down to nothing at all. Her shift pooled on top of her dress and she kicked them to the corner of the room.

She squealed, tended to her bedtime routines in a manic rush and then slipped into bed.

The fire was perfect and her room warm.

She drifted off with ease, her lips still burning from his mesmerizing kisses; nothing like the king's feeble attempts to woo her.

Her dreams were of her skirts lifting, male flesh parting her folds and green eyes holding her captive.

And when she woke the next morning, with no Edward in her sight, tears drifted down her cheeks.

He'd fooled her.

And the king probably already knew what and who she was; all for a hypnotic, stolen kiss in the garden.

Foolish, foolish, woman.

Her breathing was labored and there were great pains in her stomach as she got dressed.

The chill of her skin when the cool air hit her made her eyes water. Her feet were heavy and unwieldy.

She'd slept in the nude . . . for _him_ . . .

He had tested her for the king, and she had believed his act.

_Damn you, idiot girl! Of course he never came to you. Look at you! You are a servant for God's sake! In what world would he honestly desire you?_

_In your previous one! The one you left._

She sniffed, blinked hard, huffed and her hands were rough as she pulled her shoes on. Her careless hands yanked the brush through her hair without any regard to the pain.

Did it matter if she pulled her hair out at the roots?

No, it did not. Nothing mattered now.

She could hear other servants bustling about in the corridors.

Already she was failing since normally she would have been awake and at her chores before any of the rest of them had even dressed for the day.

Her legs were slow and hampered by a feeling of despair.

When she arrived in the laundry, there was a rather large pile awaiting her.

She sorted the cloths according to the type of cleaning they required and as she shuffled them and separated them into piles, she was hit with Edward's delicious smell.

Her mouth watered and her eyes slid closed.

She pulled the doublet up to her nose and buried her face in it. _Oh please . . . Love me, Edward. Have a regard in your heart for me._

She had to leave, to get some fresh air before she screamed and rent his garment in pieces.

When she stood up and dropped the cloth, a parchment dropped out of it.

She crouched down, picked it up and stepped toward the exit, leading out to the garden.

It would be nice to have some fresh air, but then when she recalled how he had kissed her out there last night, her heart dropped.

She pressed the paper up against her bosom and took a few deep breaths.

Her left palm settled up against the wall and she braced herself for what this note might say.

Who was it written to?

_Stop this—it is probably a list of business items for the king, nothing more._

The door connecting into the castle's interior, opened, and when she turned, there was the king himself.

She gasped, turned back away from him for a moment and tucked the note into her bodice where he would not see it.

"My lady," he said and strode inside, his limp missing.

She turned around and curtsied. "Your Majesty. The honor of your presence is—"

"None of this useless flattery; I came to fetch you myself since you seem to disappear more often than I'd like." He pulled her up by the shoulders and stared in her eyes. And she felt . . . _nothing_. It was nowhere near the way she felt when Edward looked in her eyes. This man was an inflated, ruddy, sad man. Yes, she was sorry for his life of pain and his ever-failing quest for love, but it was impossible she should ever love him. He smiled and said, "You are to come have breakfast with me."

She blinked. "But my duties . . ."

"Your duties will still be here when you finish. You must eat, Isabella, and I insist you do it at my side since I failed to have you there last night."

She nodded, pressed her lips together and kept her hands clasped together in front of her waist. Hopefully he would not expect her to drape her hand over his pudgy arm. And hopefully he did not have a new duty for her—to be his unwilling mistress as he rutted in her distraught body.

She would gladly let Edward . . .

_No, do not even think his name or dwell on his amazing visage!_

She swallowed. Henry set his palm in the center of her back and led her along.

The walk was silent, and he smiled the entire time while she tried to smile back at him even though her insides were hollow—empty without his brother's presence there to soothe her.

Henry pulled her into his outer chamber and there was already food waiting for them.

He sat down and then patted his knee.

Did he think she would perch on his lap like a dog?

_Yes, Isabella. You are most decidedly his bitch. Now heel._

She curtsied and took a spot on the floor, kneeling next to him.

"Shall I feed you, my sweet thing?" he cooed.

She shook her head. "I can feed myself, thank you, Sire."

"Will you afford me no latitude? I desire to dote on you," he said.

"No, I will not. For, I am tired and need to return to my duties." She nodded.

He sighed and passed her some bread.

She tore into it, her hunger overtaking her.

Last night she had barely nibbled at her food, and she was starving.

Her teeth ripped into the bread, and she devoured what he had given her in no time at all.

He handed her another piece as soon as that one was gone.

She did the same, and his breathing picked up.

A hissing noise escaped his nostrils.

When she looked up at him, his cheeks were flushed and he looked hungry, but not for the food before him.

His eyes were directed at her.

"The way you eat," he commented.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Oh, apologies, Sire. I should have . . ."

"No, no. I like watching you eat with abandon." He ran his big palm down his face and then gripped his chin. "I think I should like to watch you eat all day. It rouses the senses."

Her face heated and she looked away. How was she supposed to respond?

Her mind raced. "And how is Sir Edward this morning?"

"He is on the hunt. I gave him leave to be gone all the day long," he answered, and his voice was tight.

"Does he usually supply the meat that is set at your dining table?" She took another bite.

"I do not wish to speak of him," he said. He leaned forward, his great belly making it cumbersome. "I wish to talk of other more important matters."

His hand drifted over her shoulder and slipped into her hair.

Chills of revulsion hit her and a lump formed in her throat. Her hands went numb while nausea overcame her.

She set the bread aside, put her palm on her stomach to see if she could settle it and keep from vomiting.

"What can be more important than your own flesh and blood—your _family_?" she asked.

"You."

She blinked and lifted her gaze to him.

"I cannot accept this," she said, voice soft, trembling.

"You shall accept it. We must move forward. In two weeks time, Catherine takes my children to Whitehall. I was hoping to move swifter than this, but there are forces that have slowed my sails. So, you and I shall remove to one of my country homes, and there we shall be wed and bedded properly."

She scooted away from him.

His hand fell to his lap, and his face dropped.

"This is disagreeable to you?"

"You are already married."

He tapped his fingers on his right knee. "Not for long. I am to divorce Catherine and you shall take your place at my side."

"I am not ready for such a great responsibility." She exhaled slow and long. "It is more than I can bear."

"You, my dear, can handle anything God sees fit to place before you. I have never met a stronger, lovelier lady than you." His hands now caressed his burly legs, and she almost retched, thinking about him touching her that way.

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and leaned forward to put pressure on her stomach to keep the contents inside.

"My lady, you are not well. I will escort you back to your chambers."

"I am fine. There is nothing the matter with me," she answered.

"I will not allow you to attend to the wash when you can barely keep your meal down," he insisted.

She nodded, and he extended his hand.

After she took it, she regretted it immediately. Because instead of helping her to stand, like she thought he was doing, he pulled her up into his lap and kissed her cheek then cupped it, caressing her temple with his thumb.

"So beautiful and so sweet," he said, his eyes roaming down to her breasts. "Like a fresh stirring breeze on a hot, formidable day."

Her eyes darted away. "Thank you, Sire."

"You are most welcome, my delectable little creature." He leaned in to kiss her lips but she turned her face away so his mouth landed on her cheek instead, so he kissed her in the same spot again.

"You mean to make me beg for more? I have a bad leg, but I will get on my knees to sample of _your_ unearthly pleasures."

"N-no, sir. I mean to be a chaste woman, and you are still married."

"That will be rectified soon, and then will you kiss me back?"

"I do not know," she answered. "I do not feel ready for any of your attentions, and I would like some time to grasp your affections and understand them."

"You will be ready in two weeks. That is all the time I will allow, and until then, I want you at my side at dinner each night and to attend any and all events I must be present at."

She nodded and wiggled her way off his lap, ignoring the pronounced bulge now in his breeches, beneath his codpiece, rubbing on her a little.

Her curtsy was a little wobbly since it felt like her insides were crumbling apart.

She nodded and asked to be excused, which he granted. Once in the corridor, she ran as fast as she could and failed to breathe again until once more she was tucked away in the laundry—hidden from the world.

.

.

.

As soon as Isabella's duties were completed, she went straight to her room and started gathering her belongings. Her stay in the castle was over. It was an impossibility for her to remain here any longer. Her life was now in danger.

And she would rather flee for the remainder of her days than become Henry's secret whorish delight.

_Rap, rap, rap, rap, rap._

A bold knock on her door startled her.

She took a deep breath, swiped the back of her hand across her brow and then settled her palm on her stomach.

If she ignored the person on the other side of the door, Henry might come fetch her himself.

It was nearing dinner time.

She tucked away her belongings, hiding them behind her pillows as best she could, and then went to get the door, now being battered even harder.

Edward . . . ? Could it be?

Her fingers trembled as she opened it, and there stood Henry, out of breath and devouring her with his eyes.

"Isabella . . . I heard you are no longer ill, and I could not wait until dinner to see you. You must come with me now; keep an old man company," he said.

He extended his palm out to her.

She hesitated but finally took it and then exhaled, keeping her head down. If she looked at him, he might see the truth in her eyes—she loved another and would never be his.

"Shall I change my apparel first?" she asked.

"If that is an invitation to return the favor and help you undress, then yes, by all means—change into something else," he answered, chuckling.

Her face flamed hotter than the fire in her hearth.

"I meant only to keep from shaming His Majesty; these are the clothes I worked in all day," she explained. She swallowed and there was this sound like he was choking. _She_ was. He was strangling her desire to breathe and live.

When she looked up, he was holding his throat with his other hand like he was restraining himself. "You are a most beautiful lady, and nothing about you could ever shame me." His eyes lit up and his tongue darted out, wetting the corner of his mouth. "I daresay, you would be most becoming in a peasant's shift or a man's shirt. And I must admit, I would give anything to see either or both of those come true."

She stepped back a little. "_Sire_ . . ." she said with a warning voice—letting him know he was being too forward, offending her lady-like virtues and sensibilities.

"Come, come," he paused and patted her hand still in his, "I have a little business left to attend to since my brother has left."

Her eyes flicked up to his, and her insides shook. She fought a frown. "You mean he has not returned from the day's hunt yet?"

His full lips pressed into an almost invisible line. "No, madame. He has left indefinitely."

She was the one choking on her breath now, her free hand cupping the back of her neck as her eyes watered. "Did he mention why he was leaving?" _It's because of you, hideous whore! You drove him away!_

He exhaled with a rough, grinding sound. "He left because I dismissed him. He owes me a great debt, and I have say how it is repaid."

She gasped and then covered her mouth. "But why must his debt be paid this way?" she asked, her voice muffled.

"Because he was coveting something that is mine." He tipped his chin at her.

"You do not mean to suggest it is _me_?"

"I do." His eyes narrowed. "Will you deny he was forming an attachment and strong affections for you?"

"Yes, I will—gladly, Majesty. He does not like me one whit." Her voice was smooth and bold. A sense of courage took hold of her, and she lied in a most engaging way. "You send him away to your own detriment, since you have need of him, and I, do not. Nor he for me. He only meant to keep me safe for you—nothing untoward ever happened. I swear it."

The king leaned over with great effort and kissed her hand. "You, my lady, are the sweetest treasure ever known to man. You cannot blame a king for protecting such a precious jewel."

She blinked quickly, almost fanning her unshed tears dry. Her deep inhale helped to keep her calm. "There are some who would say I am the bitterest of herbs to behold."

"My brother?" he asked, his great weight giving him trouble as he moved back to standing erect.

"Aye." She nodded.

"Well, then he is a poor judge of women and his taste buds have obviously soured."

"Or, maybe he is a better judge than most." She pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed a little.

Why was it so difficult to dissuade this man? Had he nothing better to do than harass his laundry woman?

"I let God decide—for none is greater than He, and it is for Him to judge." He smiled.

She nodded and smiled as pleasantly as she could.

His fingers tightened around hers.

"I will give you a few minutes to change then you are to meet me at my private chambers and remain with me while I finish what I must. Then you are mine tonight to dine and converse with."

She was about to balk, and ask about the queen's presence, but closed her mouth, realizing it would be futile to argue with such a man as this.

He left her chambers, and she dressed in haste.

Her insides screamed at her to flee, to run so fast, she might never stop.

But what of Edward?

She must discover where he went so she could find him.

Her feet shuffled through the corridors, and she ignored the king's page, escorting her.

With eyes glazed, and a vexing exhaustion settling in her chest, she entered the king's chambers.

He sat reviewing some parchment, his brow heavily lined and his fist almost grinding into the table.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked without looking up.

She curtsied, even if he was not looking in her direction. "Pardon, Majesty, I can return to my own rooms."

His head jerked up, and he smiled. "No, sweet lady, you are to stay. My comment was not meant for you." He motioned to a cushioned seat next to him.

The hem of her dress dragged on the floor as she approached him, and once more, her attire was anything but adequate, but this was the best she had.

"You look lovely," he said.

She frowned. "For a laundress . . ." she supplied.

"For a beautiful woman I cannot abide to be apart from."

"Majesty, I cannot fathom why you entertain these notions. There is nothing special about me." She rested her palm over her heart.

He reached out and snagged it off her chest and cupped it between his two hands. "On the contrary—it is a great relief that for a few short moments a day, I can be near you and not worry of artifice or great tongues wagging and telling me what they think I want to hear so they gain favor." He kissed her hand. "You are a great treasure indeed and a wonder to behold."

She went silent, unsure of what to say.

A moment later, several men of import entered and begged for the king's attention.

He groaned and dismissed her, realizing he had other responsibilities to attend to.

She walked with a lighter step through the corridors, and she pushed her door open to her chamber quickly then locked herself in, to keep safely out of the king's reach.

She rested her forehead on the cool wood of the door. "God help me . . ." She settled a hand on her chest; her breaths evening out finally. When in the king's presence, she rarely allowed a full breath to invade her lungs.

"God help me, too," a familiar voice cooed behind her, and then there were hands in her hair, a mouth at her neck.

**A/N:**

**I apologize for the delay, but you know... real life and all that. ;D**

**Thanks so much to my beta and pre-readers. They are fabulous.**

**Chanse**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Oh!" she yelped and turned in a flash.

"He cannot keep me away from you," Edward said, baring his teeth as his eyes angled down at her breasts. "Nothing can keep us separated."

"You really do want me?" She set her palms on the door, pushing herself flush up against it, to create as much distance as possible. Her body's riotous reactions frightened her. She was almost hyperventilating, being this close to him after thinking he was gone. Her eyes burned, ready to burst forth with hideous tears. What was wrong with her? She turned her head away from him, hoping he would not notice how uncontrollable she was.

"You doubted it?" He grabbed her hand and when she shrieked, assuming he would place her hand over his erection, he took it and placed it over his heart instead. "This beats only for you. I lost everything, Isabella. I had nothing left. I gambled my life away until I had to crawl on hands and knees to this bloated ass, begging for some sustenance. I became his indentured servant, and now he sees the way his rake of a brother standing here, eyes you with even more desperation for you than when he crawled on his belly to the King, supplicating him for shelter, food and drink. I want you more than those; need you more than the basic items I require to continue existing. I am mad for you; famished for your affection, and here you are beautiful and spirited, perplexing both the king and his vexing brother, and he is unaware if you return the sentiments to his lowly relation." His eyes softened.

"You know differently, don't you, my lord?"

He shook his head then his hips shifted side to side as they inched forward, gathering a close heat between their bodies. It hinted of animalistic sexuality and a lithe, well-endowed lover at her fingertips. "You tell me now—do you need me?"

"I do." She licked her lips and lost the end of her breath.

"Do you want me?"

"So much," she said, her heart racing as his arms caged her in, causing all thoughts and words to escape her mind.

"Do you love me?"

"Edward . . ." she whimpered with a thready, pulsing moan. "I want . . ."

"Me. It's enough," he growled and then lunged at her, his mouth wet on her throat, his palms cupping her breasts.

"You do want me?" she repeated.

"Isabella, I cannot abide the next hour without having you—" he leaned in again, bit her neck, then kicked her legs apart with his powerful thighs. "Take me in your bed. Tell me I can taste you, touch you, and be inside your sinful body."

"Oh dear God," she said, her hands plunging into his hair, fisting and tugging so roughly, he bit back a scream of sexual fury.

He picked her up by the back of her thighs and moved her over to the bed. Once on her feet, he spun her around, unlaced her sleeves and all but ripped her clothes off her as he nipped at the base of her neck and breathed his humid, potent air down her back.

She shivered with anticipation, and his touch removed all chill.

"These breasts will forever be mine, and haunt me 'til the day I die," he said, tugging and rolling her nipples as he nestled in behind her. His stiff penis pressed between her thighs while he hunched over her. "And this soft shoulder will be covered with my tongue and ardent kisses." He dropped one hand and it found its way through her slickened womanly hairs, guiding the way to her tight entrance. "This beautiful cunny will be saturated in my seed—not the king's, and you will know who you belong to—_me_!"

He pushed her over so her chest was on the bed and her ass in the air as he bent over her.

"He'd take you like this from behind, caring not at all how it felt to you, what expression you might make, but I want you bathed in pleasure, coated in my love." He stood up. "And I want to see it all! The back and the front; the way I pulse inside you while you cream my cock. Having you give yourself to me means everything to me."

She could hear fabric falling about his feet.

"I want you to touch me because I need it, and I'll touch every inch of your fair skin because I fail to survive without it," he said, his hands busily removing the remainder of his clothing.

She turned to look at him, still doubled over.

"Turn around, Isabella. Look on the man that loves you," he said.

"You love me?" Her spine suddenly snapped straight and she turned, baring her body to him without shame.

"More than my very own soul," he said, his tone husky and deep.

"That's impossible," she said, "because you have two of them. I gave you mine the minute I first spoke to you."

"Isabella!" His voice shook, and he had her on her back, pinned on the bed, his body over hers, his hands nearing her slick, waiting hole. Those wicked lips of his wrapped around her tightened nipple.

She arched into him, gripping his shoulders harder than she ought to.

"Touch my flesh—take it in your hands and feel the power of what I give to you," he said, gripping one of her hands and placing it on his cock.

"So much bigger than me," she said, her eyes flying open with wild, unrestrained desire.

She loved the idea of this big, feral muscle forcing a place inside her body.

True, she was no small lady, but she always felt tight down there during intimate relations, and George was most decidedly smaller than this.

"I will fit snug in you, and you'll love being crammed full of me. There's no room for anyone but me in your heart and body," he said, his eyes bright and filled with wicked lust.

"Yes, I am ready; I know I want you," she cried out, pumping him with one hand.

"Christ, you milk my seed from me already," he said, looking down.

There was a moist line trickling straight down from the flaring, swollen tip.

"It is beautiful, like dews on petals in the morning," she said, awed by the erotic sight before her.

"It is not beautiful—it is claiming you," he said, then he ripped her hand off him. He dipped it into her wet, hot entrance.

She choked on a plea for him to end this torment and be inside, completely swathed.

"Not yet . . . I need you soft and pliant to accommodate me so I do not harm you with my girth—because I plan to ravish you over and over, until I can do it no longer."

"God help me," she repeated from earlier.

"He is gone—for he knows I plan to indoctrinate you with my ways—to overpower your mind until all you know is me."

"You speak to your most loyal disciple; there is no need to indoctrinate someone that took every word uttered by you into her heart." She smiled and ran her hands over his flexing chest muscles.

"What have you learned then?" His fingers circled at her clitoris.

Her body rippled with pleasure beneath him and her head tipped back as she tried to absorb the shocks and intense tingles, spreading through her entire frame.

"Tell me the gospel of Edward that swells in your heart," he said, the head of his cock teasing at her opening, his fingers slipping over her folds, making her buck toward him.

"There shalt be no other gods before thee, including Henry," she began.

He moaned and licked at her left nipple. "What else? Give me more."

"I shall covet all that get close to be near you, for I fear I need thee every moment, and worry you will find some other woman more comely than I."

He bit her breast. "You need to be corrected on that one." He pinched the hood of her clit. "I see no other woman but you. They can be mules for all I notice or care. Now, try to share another one, and this time, realize I see only you."

"I shall never lie to my Lord: Edward. I shall ever obey him, for he knows what is best for me," she said, shifting below him, trying to engage his erection, suck it inside her. It ached to only feel the tip of him. "Please, Edward . . . I will say and do whatever you wish, just please penetrate me!"

"I need one more," he said, his neck strained. Was he fighting for control?

"I do not know. I only know I will wait for you each night, keeping the fire burning, making the room a holy shrine for you—only you."

"Perfect—you have no idea how amorous you make me when you say these things—acting as if I am worthy of your worship like a God."

"You _are_ my God," she gritted, grabbing his hips, trying to settle him lower. "You are my salvation and the author of my soul; that is why I gave it to you and placed it in your care."

"Feel how hard you make me, how I fight to keep from thrusting into you like an animal," he said, finally pushing himself inside until he could go no further.

But it was slow and torturous. "Please, God!" She ripped her claws into his shoulders, trying to anchor herself to him. There was no way to get close enough or feel too much of his heat. "Can you move faster?"

"I can . . . You need time to adjust to me first," he ground out, his arms clutching her tight to his chest. "Hold on to me so I do not lose my seed to you already."

She tightened. His seed? He was going to mix it with hers?

No! She could not be with child; not until she could lose Henry's interest.

He would kill them both if she were to carry Edward's issue.

But there was no stopping now. She could not accept the fear. All she knew was him, the ridges of his thick cock sliding slowly in and out of her.

She wanted more—needed every inch to brand her on the inside while his mouth marked her on the outside.

He bit at her neck, gripped into her ribs and thrust deep and measured.

"You feel so heavenly," she said. "I have never . . . It has never been thus."

"And you are so snug, you squeeze me like a tight punishing sleeve, and I will lose my way . . . But I want to please you," he said, his entire body tightening.

He thickened inside her.

"You need not wait for me, dear heart, I have you; I will hold you and keep you tight in my heart and in my cunny," she vowed.

He shook, fighting off the release of his seed.

"No—we mix seed together—you release for me." His fingers rubbed furiously on her clit and he suckled at her breasts, snarling his desire for her, whispering about how her cream was ambrosia to him that he would taste it and drink of it soon enough.

She groaned and her hips flexed into him.

He shared sordid desires of how he dreamed of her sucking on his manly flesh, kissing the tip and worshiping it as he died inside for her.

She was at the edge of releasing her seed, but then he gripped her by the back of the neck.

"You will let me taste you," he said and then in the next moment, his mouth was on her cunny, licking at the cream he was cooing about.

"So good, Isabella. You are made to delight my tongue and sate my hungered body," he said, sucking and plunging his tongue into her as far as it could go.

"Please, I need you back inside." She gripped his hair, trying to drag him back up her body.

"Kiss me first—taste your cream on my savage tongue—show me you cannot bear to do anything less than be unleashed with me. I want you to come apart at my mouth parting yours," he said.

She gripped his head and shoved his mouth onto hers.

Her throaty growl made him cry out with a feral grunt.

He pinched her clit and he shoved his cock back inside her in the next breath, making her explode around his cock in a racking orgasm.

His spurts filled her, and he kissed her all over as he shared a generous amount of seed. It was spilling out of her, rolling down her thighs.

She flung her arm over her eyes.

What had she just allowed to happen?

This would be war to the king if she conceived.

They would find their heads on the chopping block, but she was so lost in Edward, she was glad of it.

Better to be dead then deny this man.

"Speak to me, my love. Tell me why you are hiding," he said, lifting her arm and peeking.

"I fear the wrath of the king because this may result in a child—we are reckless." She frowned and tears welled in her eyes.

"I will protect you always, and if God gives us a child out of this love and union, then I will be ever rejoicing and the happiest bastard in the land," he said, chuckling and lowering himself over her.

The heady weight of his lax body was almost as arousing as his heated kisses from earlier.

"We should run," she said, her throat raw and making her sound breathless.

"We should, but we will not."

"I do not understand why you would want to stay." She removed her arm and peered in his eyes.

"We stay because if we run, he makes chase and will eventually find us. We stay, find a way to deter his interest in you and then we slip away when he takes no notice. It is the only way to survive this intact." He pulled out of her.

She winced at the loss of pressure. More of their mixed seed decorated her body as it oozed and dripped out of her body and off his cock. My God, it was a glorious vision to see her seed coating his manly flesh.

He lifted his hips, saw the puddle on her body and grinned wickedly. "I must taste our combined, potent seed."

"Wicked of you," she said, giggling.

"Righteous since I am God here." He smirked, dragged himself down her body and lapped at the fluid pooled at the dip of her inner thigh.

She squirmed at the heat and naughtiness of it.

"What will we do if it takes him a long time to lose interest?"

"We will bed together every night regardless of what he does, so do not even suggest we go back to where we were," he said, scraping his teeth over her thigh then he stalked back up her body.

"But I may get with child," she protested, her voice peaking with urgency.

He shook his head. "That may take many months to transpire. And I cannot stay away from you. I am already losing my sanity as it is, waiting for stolen, fractions of moments to be with you. Do not test me thus, for you know I will find a way to crash through any wall to have you."

"Be reasonable; we risk much."

"I risk all for you, and there is no other option." He covered her lips with his fingers. "Shhh . . . Be still, my love. Feel what it means to be together. God joined us in this fashion, and this is right. Do not doubt it. Take me between your legs so we both survive and avoid going mad."

"This is unwise, but you are right. I cannot forebear when it comes to you. I love you." She rested her forehead on his shoulder when he settled next to her.

"Breathe—fret not. I am holding you, I have you, and you are mine. I will outsmart him, and his passions will wane."

"How?"

"Just try to be less charming and less beautiful, if you can," he teased.

"That is like saying you can stop being filled with a power that calls to me and makes my very bones ache for you," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Leave him to me. I know him, and I know what he looks for. I can distract him and find a mistress to take his fancy." He kissed the edge of her jaw and breathed her in.

"I will trust you know how to navigate these waters, since I know not how to sail in these murky depths."

He chuckled. "Too true, my love, too true."

They snuggled together for as long as they could, but as dinner approached, he knew he had to depart.

It was with much tears and heartache, she let him leave.

She unpacked her belongings and a tight, fist of fear, seized her heart.

There was no time to clean her body thoroughly, and she would be near the king, smelling of Edward and his masculine, intoxicating scent, along with his seed.

This was a nightmare.

She went about washing her body as best she could, flying about the room, preparing herself to be presentable.

.

.

.

"You look ready to be ravished, and . . ." he glanced around as if to make sure no one would witness them, then he leaned in even closer ". . . fuuuuucked by me." He licked the edge of her ear.

How was he here at her chamber door? He was to escort her to dinner?

"How are you still here? I thought the king banished you?" Her cheeks flushed from his words and from the look he gave her.

"I begged forgiveness, and pointed out all the ways he was in need of my service." He grinned and placed her hand on his arm as he led her into the corridor.

"But no mention of how much I need and ache for you, I hope," she muttered under her breath.

"Of course I shared that, too, but in a subtle way bloody tyrants like him will never understand," he said, adjusting himself.

Was he amorous already?

She glanced down between his thighs.

"You have a hard time resisting, and I know why."

"Shush," she said, slapping his arm with her dainty palm. "We must behave if we are to disappear out of his sights."

"But at the moment, we are not in his sights, and you are very much in mine . . ." He thrust her up against the wall, boxed her in with his thighs, surrounding her legs. His hands propped up next to her head on the wall. "You smell wickedly divine. It stirs my blood to action."

"Then it should be a most invigorating dance indeed tonight." She ducked under his arm and smoothed her hair down in case he had mussed it.

"How shall I ever resist your delectable charms and pale, pink dusted skin. For I know it is still dusted from the way I heated it up mere hours ago."

"Stop this maddening torture," she said, keeping her head down and her pace swift. "We are summoned, and we have a duty."

"Perhaps we should have run. I could be buried deep in that glorious, welcoming cunny right now, and there would be no need to stop," he said, gripping her arm and halting her.

She leaned her head into his chest and he hugged her. "This going to be more laborious than any chore I must suffer through in the laundry. My hands cry out to be on you, to feel of your flesh and know the exact heat of it."

"Tell me all through dinner you will be engaged with your faculties, reliving the things I did to your pretty little nipples, your slick, engorged clitoris and recalling the exact way I licked our seed off you."

"Stop. You must desist or I will faint from the fire in me." She gripped his arm tight.

"I do not think I can stop even if I tell my mind to do so. There is no resisting you. It is no wonder Henry seeks to manhandle and clutch at your luscious flesh." His steps resumed.

She followed along as though there was no pulsing between her thighs.

"I may not be able to eat at Henry's table," she confessed. "Not with you near."

"And I will eat nothing but you ever again," he said, smirking. "Nothing else will satisfy me."

He wiped his lips with his other hand, and she faltered in her steps, tripping over nothing but clumsy, debilitating air—the air he breathed with hot, heady seduction.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The room seemed stuffy and overly warm when she entered it. All eyes were on her. She tucked her chin down and weighted her steps carefully so she would not topple over and humiliate herself.

Although . . . Maybe if she made a fool of herself, the king's tendency toward paying her attention might dwindle.

"I perish with hunger," Henry complained, appearing miserable, but then he looked up and saw her, and his cheeks colored. "Ah, a loyal lady to join our feast."

"Yes, I am here, Sire. I intend to stay out of mischief and help however possible."

"You help by being nearby and brightening the room," he replied.

He motioned for her to sit down and this time, Edward seated her between the king and himself.

It was an awkward place to be, and she wished she could find a good reason to leave.

"The claret is exceptionally fine this evening," Henry declared, gripping his goblet tight. "I insist all at my table enjoy it to the fullest."

Edward sat stoic at her side, quiet and most upsetting of all—distanced. There was a lack of contact between them.

He gripped the edge of his chair and the tendons in his neck stood out.

"Relax," she whispered, leaning toward him casually.

"I will relax when he is away from your person," he said even quieter than her.

She nodded then smiled at those in attendance at the table.

Queen Catherine made her appearance, and she was greeted accordingly by all awaiting the meal.

"Drink, brother. Show my loyal subjects how right I treat them by sharing my most palatable of drinks," the king urged.

"No thank you. I am not thirsty," Edward retorted.

"Then I expect you to eat much tonight to make up for it," the king answered.

Edward stiffened then smirked. "Majesty, I had a sumptuous feast of my own in the privacy of other quarters. And I dare not wash away or remove the flavors I took into my mouth. They hold me in a state of bliss. I am sure you can appreciate that."

Henry scowled. "You do not eat before you come to my table!"

"I apologize—I was unaware this was an unspoken rule in your court." Edward settled back into his chair now, a challenging glint in his eyes.

"There are no rules, but it is customary to eat with those at court each night. Feel free to return to your chambers then if you have no need to be here," Henry said, glancing over at Isabella.

"Just because I refuse to stuff my gullet to over-full, does not mean there is no need of me. I stay." Edward's voice was firm.

The power he exuded was frightening and risky in Henry's presence.

Isabella reached under the table and stroked Edward's thigh to bring him back to himself, so he could remember they needed to tread a delicate course.

Edward's eyes shifted over to her and he swallowed, appearing full of unnamed emotions. There was a hint of panic in his eyes. Did he distrust Henry this much?

What did he think—the king would place her on the table and spread her thighs as he hobbled his way inside her cunny?

Ridiculous.

She blew across Edward's cheek when she was sure no one was watching. He gave her a look of heat. She offered a sympathetic smile in return.

Henry started braying about how family could be vexing with their disrespect but since he was a noble and generous lord, he allowed them to take advantage of his good graces.

Edward leaned into her and gripped the edge of her seat. "I can still taste you, lingering on the back of my tongue. Your cream is a honey I savor, and will keep it there as long as I can until I have you again. I thirst and hunger only for you."

Her chest and cheeks heated. "Shhh . . ."

"I need you, darling. My mouth waters at the remaining vestiges of your potent flavor, and I want more. So much more. Make an excuse—say you are unwell, and I will remind Henry I am of no use to him here. I meet you at my private chambers, where I will lock you away and suck on your flesh until you cry out with nothing but me thrumming in your veins." He placed her hand on his erection.

She gasped quietly and ripped her hand free.

"You made it this way," he whispered once more then straightened in his seat.

Her mind whirled with what excuse she might manufacture, but nothing came to mind. She was only good at deception when it came to dire circumstances. This felt dire, but she knew it was not.

Lust fueled her, made her heart yank about fiercely, and Edward's scent lingered in the air. Everything about him overpowered the king's presence on her opposite side.

"I think I will try my hand at dancing," the king announced. He stood from the table, and before she could yelp, the king yanked Isabella up to her feet. "And this light-footed creature will be my partner."

Edward paled and sat, rooted in place.

Isabella was dragged along as the king limped to the dance floor. "You will be patient with me, yes? I fear I have lacked the fortitude to dance for some time."

"Maybe it is best you try with a more stable partner like the queen?" she offered.

"She lacks the strength and is too aged to handle an old, fleshy man like me." He smiled and his eyes had a stubborn, crinkled set about them. "I know you are gainly and will keep me occupied so I do not fret about my feet and trip on them."

"I shall try my best to keep you afloat," she promised.

He tried to bow, but it took great pains for him to move thusly, so he straightened and then continued onto the dance floor.

The room was silent as could be as they watched the king force his body to the center of the space existing solely for merriment and dancing.

"Play," the king commanded the musicians.

Lively music overtook the air, and Isabella shook inside as he took her as his partner.

"Slow down," he barked at those playing for their benefit.

The music turned into what amounted to a dirge.

It was difficult to keep a pace when he could barely move. But she smiled, spoke softly and followed his lead as best she could manage.

"You have the body of Aphrodite, the grace of a winged creature, and the mind of a keen warrior. This is why I am captivated by you," Henry told her.

"You are mistaken. I have the build of a peon, the clumsiness of an ox and the intelligence of a simpleton. There is nothing special about this girl," she said, her shoulders piled up around her ears. She cringed, waiting for him to explode in a rage for daring to disagree with him.

"Haaaahahahahaha!" He laughed with the vigor of a careless young man. "The way you speak your mind holds me in stitches. Yet another reason I adore you."

"Well, the amusing aspect of it should wear off soon. Most cannot abide it for long—it grates like a knuckle being skinned against a gnarly tree." She waltzed carefully around him, cautious of his bad leg.

"The way you do take on so, holds me spellbound. All can see how easily besotted I am by you." He reached for her, but she evaded him.

"Please, propriety," she reminded. "I wish to keep a standard of good conduct to keep your name in good standing with your court."

"They care not about my standing. They kick me down and smear dirt on my noble name. How many mistresses have I been attributed with? All lies," he said, nodding at her.

When it came to the moment in the dance where he was to lift her, she curtsied then kneeled at his feet instead during that time.

He gasped. "My word—you do tempt a man to bury his ego so he may bed you and keep you."

She stood, kept her eyes down and returned to the dance.

"Majesty, you tire," the queen said, approaching him.

"Nonsense—I am most enamored of the music tonight and there is energy enough for you," he said, and swept her into his arms.

Isabella limped away, her legs like mush after all he had said to her.

Clearly, his fixation with her was failing to wane. How did she keep inciting his passions without meaning to?

Edward glared at the king and sat sullen in his seat.

The second she was near him, he took her by the hand and pulled her out of the presence chamber.

"We cannot! We must go back," she said, pulling at her arm to break free.

"You wish to go back to his manhandling and slobbering breath?" He gripped her by the waist.

"No! Of course I abhor the way he paws at me, but what am I to do? Lose my life to avoid some uncomfortable moments at his behest?"

"You leave at mine because I will kill that man dead before I let him set one more finger on you!" He picked her up and ran through the corridors.

"We are to run, then?" she asked, out of breath.

"We are to be together at all costs," he breathed, his stride lengthening. "You are to be mine and mine alone. No one is to touch you but me!"

She tucked herself into a small ball and cowered in his arms—not from him, but from the scary world that was closing in on her.

"Why does he want me? I am no one!" she whimpered into his doublet.

"You are vibrant and fresh and without guile. The women of court are disgusting with the way they flop at his feet and spread their legs for jewels and favor. He knows you will never do this because you think yourself insignificant and do not aspire for his scraps. That makes you the unattainable—the challenge he must chase after. He hates to lose."

She sighed and patted his chest then kissed the dip in his chin. He frowned.

"And you? Do you have a combatant spirit as well? Or does that escape your family's tradition?"

"I never lose when I follow what God tells me—and I will not lose to him," he said. "It is not an option."

His chamber door was flung open. He raced through the room, bypassing several different compartments then tossed her on his bed.

He went back and locked the chamber door.

"He will search for us," she said, clutching at the linens on his bed.

"He will find where we were, but he will not mar us." He picked up her hand, smothered his lips into her palm and inhaled like she was his air.

"Need to touch you and reach inside that heart of yours," he said, draping his body over hers and exploring her tender tissues with his eager hands. "Let me do this. I have to, then we leave."

She nodded, her breath crushed behind her teeth. "Yes."

Her hips rolled open, splaying herself for him as he yanked her skirts up.

His mouth was on her next, his tongue exploring her folds.

In a fevered rush, he thanked God, and soaked his tongue with her flavor.

A moment later, he was atop her, stripping himself bare. "My heart cannot take it. Have to bed you," he said through his clenched jaw.

His clothes were still halfway on, but his cock was straining and thrusting at her.

"Here," she said, taking hold of the length of him and lining him up. "I will assist."

He groaned something about her lush heat and how he was sick with want for it. His obscene exhale as he finally impaled her, made her cunny clench down and gush.

"Oh Christ! You steal my seed from me before I consent to give it," he said.

"Take it with haste—we will be caught," she groaned.

His tongue probed her mouth, and he panted with a delirious groan at the height of each violent thrust.

Out of a frenzied mind, he gripped her hair at the scalp and used it as leverage as he pumped even harder.

She clawed at his chest, and he bit and sucked at her neck in places her hair would be unable to hide this time.

"Edward . . ."

"Tighten your hold over me like your silky inner flesh that traps me and sucks me in—say I have your heart," he said, his body rocking with a force she could scarcely believe. The bed protested as the wood creaked. "Tell me before I break in two."

"You have all—dear heart. You never need to ask for my heart. When you leave, it goes with you."

"God and my right, I have you! You." _Thruuust!_ "Are." _Thruuust!_ "Mine!" _Thruuust!_

He bit at the center of her throat then licked the spot as if to heal the wound he may have inflicted.

His fingers bit even harder into her clit, pinching and lifting the hood to expose the most delicate part of her body.

"Aaaahhhhhhiiihhh!" she gasped on a shriek.

The more she writhed and went shrill, the harder he fucked her into the mattress.

"These seeds inside you are for me—give them to me now!" He propped himself up, his cock hitting a delicious spot inside her, making her light-headed.

"We risk much!" Her head thrashed from side to side.

"No! We live for each other. Share your seeds—I have to own them!" He licked up her throat and rolled her clit between his fingers again.

"You do."

"Flood me, then," he demanded.

His fingers flicked lighter, teasingly; the heat simmering inside her exploded and she convulsed then her body hugged his cock tight. "Oh my Lord!"

"Yes, mine!" He sped the voracious flexing of his hips and when her back bowed off the bed, he fell apart, too.

He shook, muffled his screams by nuzzling his lips into her neck. He ran his mouth back and forth like he was savoring the scent, taste and texture of her. His tongue would poke out a little and leave small traces behind on her skin.

"He will never have this," he said, going lax and collapsing into her.

The most pained expression crossed his eyes and they filled with moisture when next he gazed on her. He took a few deep breaths and she was misted with his sweat, fighting for air.

She could never want another man again.

The intense, possessive way he held her—she craved it constantly.

He dragged himself off her, put some less formal clothes on then picked her up and dressed her with methodical precision.

"We leave," he told her.

"Yes, far away. We can find a way to hide." She cupped his jaw and kissed him.

The room went silent and chill as he roamed around, deep in thought, collecting some of his belongings.

He stopped, tipped his head down and groaned. "I have nothing to offer you. He has seized my funds since I still owe him."

"How do you owe him?"

"I prefer to deal with more pressing matters right now," he said, shooting her a warning look.

She set her hands on her hips. "If I am to risk my life and flee with you—this is something you must divulge!"

"Fine." He shuffled over to the bed and sat on the edge in a rigid way. "I gambled away everything I owned. My parents had passed on, and there was no purpose to my existence. I was expected to marry some hag and pretend to be happy. When I refused, Henry was furious. But I had no way to pay for a bride anyway, so he bid me come to court and work for my lodging. He needed me, and I had need of food in my belly and a bed to sleep in."

"How much do you owe him now?"

"Not much." He flinched.

"How much is not much?"

"Jesus, my life is worth little, but you want me to account for it? It is bad enough I have to bow down to him and be reminded I am worthless by his friends and followers." He gripped his thighs.

"I expect you to be truthful and share with me your joys and pains since I am part of you now," she said, eyes pleading for some understanding.

"I am already unmanned in your presence. Do not require this of me as well," he said, his voice breaking.

"Only God requires all of what we are, but if I am to give you all that I am, then I expect the same in return." She moved to the door. "I shall let Henry find me in my own private chambers, and I will tell him I am unwell from his sporting dance. You rest and find your own damn excuse for why you went missing. And I suggest you wash my seed off your mouth and cock. A good hound can smell potent scents and he will not forgive."

She opened the door, slammed it behind her and tripped several times as she ran down the corridor, but it was her splintering heart that made it difficult to breathe—much more vexing than running like a crippled beggar.

The unmistakable sound of his boots ricocheting off the walls, spurred her on to a speed unheard of for her.

She crashed into the walls a few times, but once she was to her chambers, she slipped inside, and dared not look at his anguished face as Edward chased her down.

His resounding knock banged on the door. "Let me in . . . I'll tell all."

"No! You do it only because you are forced. I do not want that from you!" She pounded back on the door then slid to the ground. Why could he not freely give of himself, want to share all with her the way she did with him?

There was a commotion outside her door a second later.

"She's unwell!" Edward hollered at someone.

"Then I shall tend to her!" Henry's voice boomed.

Another loud series of poundings on her door startled her.

"Isabella, lamb, let me in!" Henry cried.

"I am indisposed," she yelled through the wood barrier.

"Please, we are fraught with worry over you," he replied. "A small peek then I will away and give you the privacy you require."

"Only if you are alone, Sire." She pushed her face into her hands and sobbed in silence.

"Yes, I can do that."

There was the sound of shuffling feet in the hallway, seething, tight voices, and she knew Edward was stubbornly refusing to go.

"Sweetheart, let me in," Henry called a few minutes later. "I must see to your health."

"But you risk your own health by nearing someone that is ill," she said, her gut tied in knots over the prospect of having him near or even touching her.

"You are too kind to think of me."

She set her hand on the door and kept it there. "You should avoid me for the next few days so you keep your good health."

"Okay. I shall do as you say, but you will allow me to send my personal physician," he said.

His retreating footsteps echoed through the corridor.

And her heart slipped away in the silence.

Edward did not trust her. He thought her unworthy of knowing what he owed his brother.

This realization lashed at her chest, flayed it open and she cried with the roaring of a bitter thunderstorm until she collapsed on the floor in a mindless, boneless heap—much like soiled, wet, unwanted laundry, in need of a thorough scrubbing and boil. Only she may have been ridden and soiled much worse than any clothing she had ever tended to.

**A/N:**

**Thank you to my pre-readers, boo1414 and Krystal Augstine, and my beta Anakin Smom. They've been such a terrific help.**

**See you Friday!**

**Chanse**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Over the next few days, she hid in her private chambers. She was nearly lifeless and had actually become fevered and chilled from her lack of food and scant drink.

Her courses came to her this morning, thank God.

She was without child, and her seeds would store up in her womb again.

Never again would she share them.

Several times, Edward came to check on her, but she never allowed him inside.

She dismissed him summarily, and he would linger in the corridor. A few times, she swore she heard him crying.

Henry was even more persistent. His physician was in her space several times a day, always bringing jewels, letters of undying devotion from the king and even a few flowers Henry picked in the gardens himself.

She grew sullen and more despondent as she considered what her future could be.

When Dr. Wendy joined her, she huddled by her bed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better, only, I should bathe. I am on my courses and I—"

"I will send the proper equipment and ask for a body of the squire," he said and left before she could reply.

Odd. Why was he behaving like that? He never did that before.

He was always fast to listen and ask questions.

A few moments later, a tub was carried into her chamber.

Water swiftly followed by the bucketful's. Once she was alone and the supplies at her fingertips, she removed her dress and shift then submerged herself with a gratifying sigh.

The heat and moisture were delicious.

She passed the time with languid sweeps of her hands through the water.

When she was ready to get out since the water had cooled significantly, the door opened.

"I do not require assistance," she said, not bothering to check who Wendy sent. Only royalty used a body of the squire, so she did not possess a servant like that, or any servant at all. She preferred to keep it that way.

Besides, she had already done most of the work. All that was left was to dry off, put on a clean shift and get back in bed.

The footsteps came closer.

"I said, I have no need of help."

"Ah, but I do," a familiar, deep timber replied.

"Edward . . ." she breathed, her toes curling immediately. Her hands covered her breasts. "Do not come closer."

"Try and stop me," he said and slid over to her side then dropped to his knees. "You are trapped and must listen now."

"I will do no such thing. You have no faith in me, and there is a disregard for my feelings along with mistrust and that breeds discord. I would rather languish away in the laundry than fool myself into believing I belong with an angel above my station."

"You are the angel, darling, and I am sorry for being so prideful and foolish. Please forgive me. I have withered without you. Henry can barely look at me without cursing my name. He says I must be possessed of a devil. I think he may be right. I need you to forgive me or I cease to exist altogether. I will tell you all."

She lowered her head. "How can I trust this is what you truly want?"

"I am here, am I not? I could have left court, never to return, but I stay for you," he said, his eyes soft, his voice gentle.

"Tell me then—say your peace and then I will decide if I find truth in your statements."

He set his hands on the edge of the tub and rested his chin there, his eyes devouring her naked form. She crossed her legs to hide her cunny as best she could.

"I will wash you as I share my transgressions," he began.

"No!"

"Isabella—I must touch you and have a connection if I am to bare much worse than nudity," he explained.

"I have already washed," she said, her chest tightening.

Touch. She craved it. How would she recover if she allowed this?

Too late—his hands were already on her body, cleansing her. She relaxed into his rapturous touch and crumbled inside, melting into his caresses, pleading with her eyes for more of his skin on hers than his fingers.

How long since he had taken her? It seemed years.

His tantalizing touch shored her up, gave her body life again.

"You missed this—my flesh on yours. There is not a moment that passes that I do not think about thrusting into you, sharing our seed and hearing you unravel." His hands reverently passed between her legs.

"You cannot say such things until you have declared your debts to your brother. I must know why it is a stumbling block for you," she reminded him, resting her hand on his busy, teasing one.

His fingers explored and engorged her genitalia.

"Speak or leave," she said, her eyes narrowing.

"I told you some of my debt, and how my parents passed away, but I did not tell you how they passed."

"How does this impact us?"

"Greatly," he said, swiping a few strands of her hair off her face. His fingers whispered down her cheek afterward. The longing look in his eyes traveled all the way down to her toes; they pointed then flexed to find relief.

"I am listening with an open heart," she said.

"So sweet and pure—I will do anything to protect your precious heart, and that is why I did not want to share this with you," he said.

"Just say it. There is nothing you can say to alarm me," she said in an encouraging, gentle tone.

He stroked her cunny lightly. "You know who my father is, the man who brought me to life, but the father that raised me, well, he was a contender for the crown. Henry VII let him live after he signed an agreement that any other children my parents birthed would be indentured servants to the crown. My parents agreed and signed it. But when offspring came, they ignored this edict. So they were stripped of their titles, lands and their children taken away. I had two brothers and one sister stolen from me."

She wrapped her hands around his wrists as he continued to caress her sweetly, arousing her and sharing some deep pain.

"Henry VII passed away many years ago, as you know, but Arthur, his oldest son, forced himself on my sister. She fought him, and was later put to death based on false charges. My brothers tried to exact revenge, and they also were slaughtered. My parents were last to try to see to justice. They were caught also and hanged for their treasonous actions. I was a toddler when my sister was attacked, and when my parents rebelled many years later, I tried to keep out of the way."

"Were you involved?" she asked.

"Not that anyone else discovered. I gambled to try to raise the money to form a stronger army, but I was usually drunk and unable to win more than I lost. Henry figured out what I was trying to do. I denied it, but his agreement to spare my life was under duress. I was to take the place of my previous siblings that failed to serve the court properly, even though my biological father, Henry VII, had never intended for me to be party to this type of servitude. I now owe my brother indefinitely because there is no way I can ever pay back what I owe from my parents, my siblings and myself; there's no price to put on it. He retained my family's lands with the option of me buying it back some day. Now you know the whole of my shame and why I am indebted. He took mercy when he could have simply had me tried and killed for treason."

"My God, Edward . . . We cannot leave. You have to stay in his good graces. He will hunt us down."

"Those things matter not to me any longer. Only you, and your worth is more than all of it combined. I would gladly give up on my lands if he would release me from the sins of ambitious parents trying to prod me toward the throne." His face fell for a moment. "You see why I have no interest at all. I already lost everything and the worth was too great."

"I have to hide my past," she confessed.

"Why?"

"I hail from a clan also enemy to the throne. I hide my accent and my lineage. It wearies me, and one of the reasons I wish to keep from angering the king. If he tries to unearth where I hail from, he would probably send me to the tower forthwith and spit on my lifeless body." She stood up, dripping all over with bath water. "Do you hate me for not telling you this after I badgered you for hiding your—"

He picked her up out of the tub, dropped her onto her bed and crawled over her.

"I forgive you if you are apologizing." He rubbed his nose across her collar bone.

"I am asking for your understanding and forgiveness, but you did not have to ruin my counterpane by placing my soaked body on it." She smiled.

"It was either that or I jump in the bath with you, and it would be cramped as I fucked you in that thing," he said. He maneuvered his codpiece out of place and pulled himself free. "Are you wet?"

"Did you just remove me from the water?" She giggled.

"I speak of your slickness for my cock. Is it inviting me—your cunny?" He lavished her nipple with his velvet tongue.

She wrapped her legs around his hips. "Discover it for yourself," she said.

"I shall." Without another word, he pushed his cockhead in halfway.

"I can never say sorry enough. I was frightened," she said.

"Shhh . . . Darling, you speak too much when all I need now is to hear you moan my name and accept my generous manly flesh." He kissed her eyes in turn.

"I missed you," she said.

"And I was ready to kill for you. Never do this again. I do not care if you are on your courses," he said.

"You knew?" Her voice rose and her chest heated with both mortification and arousal. He cared not at all she bled right now?

"You were in the bath, I cleaned you and told your cunny to cream instead of bleed, and it listened to me. Yes, I knew you were wet and on your courses. As long as I can be here—right now—I will fuck you, and you will let me."

"You make love to me," she corrected.

"I make love to you with the door unlocked, and if we are caught, I will be glad of it. All should know you are mine," he growled.

Images of being discovered, rampaged through her head, and her insides clenched in response.

"Do that again!" His head flung back and his legs flexed while his hips pistoned onward. He dug in as he thrusted erratically and with so much passion, she was already covered with sweat and the scent of sex.

"Are you disappointed my body did not take to your seed and form a child from before?" she asked, biting her lip and frowning.

"I am happy you accept me at all and allow me to coax your seed from your curvy body. I am indebted to you always . . . Not the king. Not him." He kissed her neck, whimpered when her hips moved with his, meeting each glorious pump.

"We must marry," he said abruptly.

"Edward!" she cried out and her entire body writhed as a debilitating orgasm crashed into her.

"Yes, yes, darling. I need you!" he chanted and his thrusts went from disorganized to brutal.

He gripped her head, wrapping his arms around it, holding her in place as he became incoherent and rocked her bed like mad.

A few swift movements and he dissolved into tears and sugared kisses. "Marry me. You will have my babe, and I will be the happiest of men."

"Yessss," she drawled as her body splayed out, feeling spongy and boneless.

"Today. We leave and elope."

"Aye."

"You agree to be mine?"

"How many times must I agree before you believe me?"

"Enough times that I know you ache for it, too, and no longer try to punish me for being an utter fool when I thought to hide my embarrassing past."

"Never. I will never punish you again." She kissed him and sagged into the bed. "I was the foolish one to think I could keep away from you."

.

.

.

Their marriage was fast and simple.

She wore one of her few light colored linen dresses and he wore a beautiful, silvery brocade.

They chose strangers as their witnesses and performed it in an obscure tiny town.

Edward found an inn and they consummated repeatedly, neither tiring of the sensual, tender and most primal of acts.

As she lay in his arms now, a moment of peace fleeting, she propped her head up to ask, "Must we return tonight?"

"If we do not want to be discovered, then, yes," he answered. He chuckled and petted her hair. "I dread it."

"And I as well. This room smells like sweaty men, but the bed is comfortable enough. And I am content here with you." She smiled and it was lazy and sensual. Her eyes were heavy.

"Sleep, darling. I shall wake you soon to take you again." He smirked.

"I think you plan to get me with child before the night is over." She ran her hands through the light hairs on his chest. Earlier, she had licked them; he had cried out like a savage beast and then dug his hands into her ass, pummeling her hard with his cock.

She was tempted to do it again and see if it would provoke the same reaction. Her grin grew wider.

"I do. You will take my seed and hold it fast in your womb—I know it, aye." His fingers made chills race across her back with the way he played with her tresses.

"In order to do that, you have to quit licking it all up after," she teased.

"Tell your seed to quit being so delicious, and I shall leave it be in your cunny. For now, I taste it every time it spills forth."

She chuckled. Was this allowed?

The church had very strict laws on sexuality.

Did she even care?

"We break many laws with the way we lie together," she told him.

"And I care less about that than I do about what Henry might think when he finds out."

"That is untrue. It matters very much—both. If we break spiritual laws—

"Aaaannnngh!" he snapped. "How would anyone ever know what I do in the comforts of my bed? Is it their concern if I fornicate with my pretty, clever wife with a wicked tongue and tight cunny?"

She caressed his chest and shoulders. "I only meant . . ." Her eyes stung.

"I am sorry, but I cannot dwell on what others might consider sinful, or I will lose what little sanity I have left. And as for my brother?"

She blinked and waited.

"He is not God. We already established that I am he between your legs." He grinned.

"Stop it," she said, slapping his chest.

"I will not, madame. You need not worry about him. We cannot control what he does." He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm, keeping her hand to his parted lips.

"If any harm ever came to you because of me . . ."

"It won't. I was dead before you anyway, so he cannot kill a dead man." His voice was muffled by her hand.

"Be serious," she said.

"I am in earnest, wife. We do ourselves a disservice by alarming ourselves and bringing to bear fear over an old, dying man. He is sickly most of the time," he said.

"I have yet to see him ill."

She sat up and straddled his waist. "How often?"

"He has had an unusual bout of good humours lately, but it cannot last. Every few weeks his leg festers, rots and spit forth white splinters, taking him down to his bed. He will not keep up with me as I take my wife to bed often behind his back." He stroked her belly and then cupped her breasts. "So you see—there is nothing to fear. We can outrun him."

"You are gambling once more." She feigned a disapproving glare. "Only this time you are sober. I am uncertain how unnerved I should be by this."

"For you? Absolutely I gamble. Worth it."

"Crazy man, I love you."

"I love you, too. Flatter me. Talk about how you have to accommodate my cock each time I make my way inside you," he said, smirking.

"You are beyond help. There is no word for the type of wicked you are." She leaned forward and rested her weight into her hands, on his chest.

"I am the type of wicked that licks up errant seeds and coats his tongue with it. And I am thirsty once more. Give me one more drink then we return to court, where I pray night falls soon so I can sneak through the corridors to your sumptuous bed."

He grabbed her hips, flipped her over and worshiped her body with the fervency of a very thirsty man indeed.

Once again, he sucked all the fluids off her, his breath cooling her heated flesh and making her want to do it all over again.

Oh, her wicked, wicked husband would make them chase the light of dawn.

**A/N:**

**Thank you to my pre-readers, boo1414 and Krystal Augstine, and my beta Anakin Smom. They've been such a terrific help.**

**See you Monday!**

**Chanse**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Over the next week, Edward and Isabella had become adept at secret elicit gropes and quick trysts in hidden areas of court.

They were careful and their need to be together, unquenchable.

Edward was a consummate liar to his brother, and could calm Henry down anytime he seemed suspicious.

His excuse when they had left and eloped was that she needed a proper palfry so she could hunt with Henry if he so chose to take up the sport again and for when they went on procession.

Henry was so pleased, he shed a few tears.

Of course, Edward had to secure her a new horse to make the lie valid.

It also gave ample excuses for Edward to remove her from court, get her alone outside and fuck her against trees, in the grassy fields and even in the saddle. She had to break in her horse properly, of course, and her husband, too.

Today was filled with tension and unanswered questions.

Henry had demanded she answer if she would wed him this weekend, and she found ways to leave the burdensome question unsettled.

Now she was on her palfry, awaiting instructions.

Edward circled her relentlessly, keeping his eyes on her at all times.

"He shall not touch you," he hissed on his fourth pass.

"We have no choice," she said for the tenth time in the last several minutes.

"Do not let him breathe on you," he said.

"Maybe you should follow at the rear of the procession?"

"You mean to dismiss me?"

"Of course not, my love, but you are burdened with too much worry."

"I am . . . perfectly well," he gritted, his knuckles blanched white as he held the reins tight.

"All day we shall be riding. He shall tire and have no desire to do anything other than arrive at our destination," she said, using a soothing voice.

"I long to touch you, to have your lips on me," he whined in a low whisper. "To have my cock crammed inside your tiny, wet hole."

"Please . . . We will be together soon."

He circled her once more and then suddenly growled.

She followed his line of sight and turned to look over her shoulder. "God help us," she groaned.

Henry waddled out, a pained look lining his lips and bracketing his squinting eyes. "Where is my destriere?"

"Here my Lord!" one of the servants called out.

He was helped onto his charger, and then the procession began to move.

Edward kept pace behind her at all times, hovering.

Though Henry had promised she would be in her normal spot, hidden from scrutiny, he seemed unable to resist being near her.

Edward glowered at him and Henry was oblivious, seemingly stunned by her charms and wit.

She meant to be cordial, nothing more.

Henry smiled, rode close at her side and doted on her at her every turn. Good Lord the king was insufferable when infatuated.

Edward was, too. He found any excuse for them to stop so he could lower her off her palfry, brush his hands subtly across her thighs and ass and whisper lewd things in her ears. He would slide her breasts down his chest and smile all the while.

Henry refused to get off his charger since it was so cumbersome to get back on, so he would watch them carefully while atop his royal steed.

Edward was cautious, but not cautious enough.

He shared drinks with her, insisting she stay well hydrated.

His fingers would ghost under her hood, placing her stray hairs where they belonged, or that was the pretense he used.

A few times, Henry turned red and held his breath.

But as soon as she was mounted atop her horse once more, the king would smile at her in such a way it was apparent this was a man deeply in love.

After several hours of riding, they were finally safe in the country, surrounded by woods on either side. Henry gave orders for their small group to proceed as he stayed in the rear with Isabella while supplies were unloaded and put in their proper designated areas.

Edward was commanded to take charge and lead them to their spots.

She could barely speak for fear she might incriminate herself around others. What if Henry asked her about her relations with Edward? The king's brother had been overly-helpful in regard to her today.

She patted her chest, her wedding ring tucked safely away, giving her a sense of security.

"When do you rest, my dove?" he asked her.

"Dove?" she inquired, her eyebrows rose and her lips pursed through half a smile. "I have gone from a lamb to a dove?"

He grinned, and a dimple similar to Edward's formed in his chin. She could see why women used to fall at his feet. There was nary a woman that wouldn't find him handsome when in his youthful days he had that look of concern on his face.

"Lamb is not quite fitting, for I have never met a woman that flies away from me so quickly, and without it being some ploy to make the great hunter make chase," said he.

She ducked her head, swallowed and tried for an answer, but none was forthcoming. It was an accurate description of her, so instead she placed a hand over her heart, once more feeling the ring beneath her bodice and catching her breath back, along with her courage.

He sidled his horse close to her, and with a grunt, he gripped her by the waist and hefted her up and over onto his horse.

"Majesty, I am too heavy!" she said.

"Not for me."

She squealed, but not because she was flying like a true bird, but because he might be hurting himself and she had no desire to be touched by him.

Edward would be furious if he saw.

Isabella was no thin maiden. She was an older woman with curves and a sturdy musculature. It was how she could manage to bustle all the day long and work harder than the rest of the servants in the castle.

When she was in the laundry, she never lazed about.

Once firmly in the saddle, seated in front of him, his mouth went to her ear. "When do you rest? I must know . . ."

Her jaw opened and a fleeting breath wisped away, but she failed to answer because his hands were off the reins and tickling at her ribs, right below her breasts. His breath was feathering down her neckline that all at once seemed too deep and immodest. If he looked over her shoulder and down, he would have an enticing view, and he loved duckies. Breasts seemed to be his passion.

Her spine locked up and her elbows went to her sides, trying to keep him at bay.

Thoughts of her scent plagued her as well. She was at the end of her courses, but she never said a word to him about it.

Edward hadn't cared at all, and continued to make love to her every chance he could.

Menstruating failed to keep her from her never-ending chores, so why should she feel guilt for opening her legs to her husband on those days as well?

Unlike the royals, she could not take a week off to hide out while her cycle completed. And unlike the royals, she did not find lying with her husband a chore. She found it pleasurable and something she longed for all the day long.

Edward fulfilled her desires every time, and lured her seed from her with ease.

She inhaled and shifted in her seat. Was the king breathing? How could he not smell how awful she reeked?

She probably smelled worse than the sweaty horses.

He seemed undeterred as his lips kept coming near her ears, alarming her.

"You ride with the skill of a great huntress," Henry said.

"I ride with no thought at all, but if it pleases you the way I manage, then that is good." She leaned forward, trying to create space and yet be subtle about it.

"Yes, it is. But I still beg to know when you rest."

"I rest only when my work is done," she said demurely. She tucked her chin forward, causing her hair to fall forward and cover her cleavage. It helped her to worry a little less, but only just. It also created a little space between their bodies.

"You will rest with me when we get inside. No work for you while you are here," he breathed.

"But I . . . I will not know what to do if I work not," she contended. "I aim to be productive and earn my place at court."

His big palms and strong fingers gripped into her ribs with a squeeze. "You are mine, and you do not work, except to please me."

She turned in her seat to stare in his sapphire blue eyes. The shocking deep color set her on edge even more so. "Harry," she said, inhaling deep for a moment of clarity, "I have worked since I could manage it and once it was permitted." She tilted forward once more and looked back to the mass of movement in front of them. The gap between them and the group still unloading was substantial. Nobody would be able to hear their private conversation.

Thankfully Edward had not reappeared.

"I know," he purred and spread wet, fervent kisses all along her neckline.

Her gut twisted.

She was drab, dressed in light linen clothes that wore well for traveling but now they seemed to trap the heat into her body, because she was bursting with licking, horrendous flames of shame.

_No, no! I am married to your brother. Let me be!_

"Do you know how I am privy to the knowledge of your work history?" he asked. He tickled his beard back and forth across the ridge of her shoulder. It burned more than it tickled.

It was uncomfortable, but did nothing to arouse her.

When Edward bit or pulled her hair and became fierce with his needs, it ignited her body on fire, and she wanted more.

This was repulsive, the way this old man tried to seduce her.

She leaned back into his great weight and wondered for a moment how this horse could hold the both of them since he was a big man. Maybe it would be more difficult to access her if she pressed against him?

"Nay, I know not, and I can hardly surmise how you might have come to this knowledge," she answered.

Her hands crossed over her belly.

His breath locked then unhinged with a great winded groan. He wrapped his hands around her waist, covering her own arms. His rushing breaths were so loud she was losing the capacity to hear the servants around them.

"I know you, Isabella. Do you think I would not find all there is about you? Do you think I would trust you?"

"You do not trust me?" she squeaked, trying to distract him. How could he know so soon who she really was and where she hailed from? Was he about to condemn her to death?

Her eyes went wide and her fingers and toes went icy. A boulder leaped into her gullet then slid down, settling into her gut. This was most terrifying.

She swiped her hands out from under his and a tortured whistling sound escaped him. "My dove, I trust not one soul. Or that was the way of it until now."

"How do you mean?" she asked, voice wavering.

He chuckled, smoothed one deeper, abiding kiss on the side of her neck and whispered, "Until I heard of how you nursed your father, kept him in as good of health as possible. You were at his side when he died, with risking your own health, your own position here in my services."

She nodded her head. "He was my kin, and I loved him dearly. Nothing mattered but that he was well or at the very least, as comfortable as possible."

"Yes, but you could have seen to it that somebody else could have tended to him," he said. His hands roamed down her side and settled on her hips, then like a naughty, wayward child, he yanked at her skirts so quick he was able to insert his greedy hands below the fabric.

She gasped and swatted them away.

He laughed and pulled them back out.

"What is this power you hold over me? Hmm . . .?" he mused with a lofty sound abounding in his voice.

It sent daggers slicing through her belly. She almost retched.

"Sire, I am tired now, and I agree, it is time to rest. Let us retire inside, and I can refresh from the arduous journey," she said.

He nodded and called for some help to lower her down.

Edward was quickly at her thigh, his eyes anguished and filled with confusion.

She mouthed, "I am sorry, my love."

He blinked and averted his gaze, his body stiff with each movement.

She would deal with him later. Right now, she needed to get to some water source and change out her sponge she used to soak up her scant course.

"I shall see you shortly," the king said, staring at Edward.

Her husband stood still and mute.

She gulped, and had to speak to this matter. "Majesty, you must rest as well. Let us not rush this. See to your health first as I see to mine."

"Nay. I shan't ever stay away whilst we are here. Catherine is gone, and I do as I please without her eyes on me." Henry was helped down from his horse, and she was too slow to escape him.

He gripped her around the shoulders, and she was uncertain if it was to help him or her.

His gait was wobbly and concerning. If he fell . . .

Edward walked on her other side, silent.

In the next breath, Henry exhaled like he was exhausted. "You do things to me no other can do so well. Do you know how long it took me to be potent enough to consummate my marriage last year?"

She shook her head even though she did know; Edward told her. "You should not speak so of these private matters." Besides, he had already told her something about this when they first met, and she tried to forget he ever said it.

"I shall speak of it, and you shall know all there is about me as well. It is only just."

"I will listen," she said, properly chastened. "But I do not truly wish to know."

"You must know . . ." Another winded breath. "I have not had the proper stiffness since that time to take her back to my bed, and she does not excite me to try."

She composed herself for a second. "But you are still young. There will be more chances to try at this."

"That's right, I can do that if I so choose, but I do not want her. I want you." He scooted closer to her and she could feel his breath feathering down her arm.

"I do not think I will ever be able to hold your seed and produce an heir for you," she admitted. "I never . . . With my husband, we never got with child." She hoped this would be a powerful deterrent since the king was obsessed with having as many male heirs as possible.

"There are ways a man can avoid impregnating his wife if he wishes no children, and your husband most decidedly used them," he said.

She choked on her words, stumbled on a few foul words.

His fingers edged closer to her breast as his hand hung limp over her shoulder.

"Uuuuungh, you do love me. You need to be with me, as I with you," he declared.

She shifted uncomfortably. "No," she blurted.

"No? You hate me then? You mean to torture a king that can think of nothing else but taking your flesh in his mouth and hands?"

"No, no," she said and turned on him.

His footing slipped in that instant, and he crashed to the ground with a mighty groan.

Edward rushed to his side, called for help, and she ran inside, scared the king would demand her death now.

She had humiliated him and harmed his royal person.

Locked safely in her private chambers, she went about pacing, crying hysterically, freshening herself, cleaning her sponge and gasping on shuddering breaths as she feared for her life. What was she to do?

Edward might already be banished. Surely, Henry was no fool and realized they were in love.

He could be gone, and she would be unaware—unable to tell him she worshiped him and confessed her undying devotion to him as her husband.

After an interminable amount of time, her body slung hopelessly across her bed, a knock came.

"Who calls on me?"

"Isabella, admit me," Edward's smooth voice came through the door.

"My love?" She hopped up, ran to the door and flung it open.

She grabbed him by the jacket, pulled him inside, slammed the door and peppered him with smothering kisses. "You're here!"

"I am, and I need to breathe," he said, chuckling.

"Henry hasn't demanded we both cease existing?" she asked, wrapping her arms around him, maneuvering him over to the bed.

"No. He is asleep, trying to recover from that fall." He inhaled like she was an elixir.

"Does he blame me?"

"Not at all. He bellowed at me for not being next to him rather than you, so I could prevent his collapse."

"What did you say?" Her fingers twitched as she pulled his clothes off one piece at a time, her eyes devouring him.

He helped her by freeing his cock.

She bit her lip when she took him in her hand.

"I told him to go hell and said he was a grumpy old bastard who should not be removing so often. His old bones cannot handle it." He chuckled.

She dropped to her knees, took his rigid cock into her mouth, and sucked greedily.

This was her first time doing this, but she was frantic to taste him and know he was here with her, and they were safe.

"Isabella . . . darling, you will have my seed too soon, and I want to be inside you, coaxing your release as well."

"Later," she moaned around his appendage taking up space in her mouth.

"No!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and hefted her up. "I was dying, watching him put his grubby hands all over my wife, and whispering in your ears. He even stole a few kisses. He shall burn in hell, and I will piss on his flame-encompassed body. You are mine!"

He set her on the bed, pulled up her skirts and yanked her breasts over the top of her bodice. His mouth suckled and his fingers plunged inside her.

She fought to keep her moans quietened.

It was difficult when he was so impassioned and crazy for her flesh.

"Take my seed today. Hold my child inside you—then he will not want you. He will give up trying to have a claim over you!" His face contorted in anguish. "Please . . . Let me make love to you as often as possible. We must mix seed."

"I may be barren," she warned. "I never . . . With George, and we were married for years."

"I care not about him. I know my seed will overtake yours and bolster it. You can do this—you can carry a son for me," he insisted, nudging her legs wide apart. "Take all my thick cock inside you. Make room for all of it. I want my root flush with your cunny, swallowed whole by your exquisite body."

"I will try, husband. I will do my utmost to foster a place of welcome for your seed. I do so wish to be the mother of your children. I want your claim on my increasing belly." She rubbed her lower abdomen and he groaned with appreciative pleasure.

"God, you make a frenzy of me. I am deranged for want of you, and Henry—that fiend, threatens to take away my entire reason for existing. I cannot allow it!" He rammed himself inside her tight hole.

She gasped, and gripped his hair in her fists.

"Yes, love. Give me your seeds," she moaned.

He built a raging fire inside her, whispering wanton words, touching her everywhere and moving like a man possessed. Within in minutes, they both exploded simultaneously, their seeds finding a way to be together.

Unlike the other times, he kept his mouth far away from the excess. He allowed it to coat her thighs, and instead, he tried to scoop it back inside her cunny. Was he trying to ensure all of it would find its way to her womb?

"Love you so much, darling," he cooed.

"I love you, too, and I will be damned if it does not make you a child to love."

He smiled and held her tight for as long as time would permit.

**A/N:**

**Thank you to my pre-readers, boo1414 and Krystal Augstine, and my beta Anakin Smom. They've been such a terrific help.**

**And I'm sure you've figured it out by now: a palfry was a type of horse the ladies rode for the hunt and for when they went on procession or were removing. Removing was when the king and his court would move to another of his palatial houses. Henry VIII had more houses than any king before him—17 by the time he passed away. Probably because he had a larger court than most. They had to move on within a few months because the water would get polluted in the area from the court (they dumped all excrement in the rivers along with kitchen scraps, so it would turn the water incredibly foul. The sewer/plumbing for their bathrooms led straight into the river. This was actually an improvement Henry made. Before him, they dumped all this nasty stuff into moats around the castles and it would spread disease like crazy, killed the fish, and not to mention, it smelled horrific). They would also run out of game, which fed their tables and was considered a royal, noble sport, so once the gaming was depleted, they had reason to leave. No more hunting, no more Henry.**

**Posted early...**

**Chanse**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"He is in a foul humour," Edward warned her as she exited her chamber.

Was he waiting in the corridor for her?

"Good God, you surprised me," she said, jumping.

He gripped the back of her shoulders.

"I missed being near you, and I had to make sure he did not attempt to enter your compartments." He ran his fingers down her cheek then across her lips. "Or anything else you possess."

"Should I avoid dinner then?" she asked.

"No. I'll protect you. He is concerned he will be too gruff and frighten you, so if it gets too be worrisome, you can feign being frightened and leave. I will escort you back to your chambers." He stared at her lips now. "Christ, I want to kiss you and lick my way inside you."

"That is nothing compared to the naughty dreams I was enjoying," she shared.

He smiled like a wolf and stepped in closer, his thumb grazing her nipple.

It hardened instantly.

"We shall discuss these most pleasant dreams tonight, and you will act them out for my entertainment," he cooed.

"You are too deviant for words." She flashed him a mischievous smile.

He extended his hand to show her the way and impart grace and chivalry, or at least enough to survive this evening.

"I shall be in pain as I have to keep my hands off your radiant, enticing skin," he said, gripping the back of her elbow and angling her to where she should go, but keeping her in close enough proximity he could whisper in her ear if needed.

"Ah, there is my prize . . . And as you can see, there is no reason to concern yourself over my fall." Henry grimaced and repositioned his leg, propped up on several cushions under the table.

"You are certain there is no damage?" she asked.

His leg looked swollen and red.

She approached him, leaned over and reached out to touch the wounded leg when she felt Edward's palm on her lower back.

Edward leaned over, following her down. "Your cleavage is exposed at this angle," he whispered, his lips almost touched her ear.

She swallowed a gasp and straightened. "Does it hurt?" she asked Henry.

The king's eyes softened and followed her breasts as she moved. A famished look crossed his features.

She backed up two steps.

"It is no worse than any other time it flares up," he said. "Sit. Let us dine together, and if I need anything, Edward shall see to it. You are to keep me company indefinitely, until I must retire to my _bed_."

He said the final word like it was an invitation.

Her cheeks flamed and she swallowed hard. "Rest will do your leg much good. After all that riding and the fall, it would help to relieve it thusly. Do you have a poultice? What has Dr. Wendy done thus far?"

Henry barked a hysterical laugh. "Quite the overprotective little woman, aren't you?"

Her face scrunched and a tight frown pulled at the corners of her lips. "I only care about all of God's children."

"Thankfully that includes your sovereign lord—me." He smiled.

She rested the weight of her concerns on her heels, grinding her feet into the hard flooring. It was easy to imagine she could extinguish them this way.

"Sit, please. You must rest as well, and I do not take kindly to women towering over me when they already make it hard to look away. I get a crick in my neck when you stand in this manner." Henry gesticulated at the chair he wanted her to occupy.

Edward pulled it out for her, his hands whispering over her arms and shoulders briefly. She could have sworn he took a whiff as well.

"Let me help you get closer," Edward said, and on the inward push, he whispered in her ear. "You smell like me and my seed. Beautiful!"

The back of her neck broke out in gooseflesh, and she was grateful her hair was down to mask it.

Edward's eyes stayed focused on Isabella as he took a seat across from her.

"Tonight's meal might not be up to my expectations since the house is still settling, but I think it should suffice." Henry motioned for a servant to bring her food first.

The yeoman's eyes went wide but he served her at once.

She gave an appreciative smile. "This looks wonderful."

"I am partial to quail myself," Edward said. "One of my favorites."

The quail on her plate smelled divine. "Did you hunt this?" she asked her secret husband, still gazing on her, seemingly transfixed.

"That I did, but Henry allowed me the use of his hawk yesterday, so I give the credit to him and his excellent trained bird." Edward received his plate last.

He seemed fine with this slight.

"Nonsense. It takes a keen falconer to control this testy bird of mine, and you handled him well." Henry's plate was fuller than hers and Edward's combined.

He took a generous bite and hummed in satisfaction. "I require more gravy," he said after a few bites.

The yeoman took care of the king's whims at a second's notice.

For God's sake, the man was a complete glutton.

She had to look away a few times, embarrassed for him and his insatiable appetite to fill his massive belly.

Henry stared at her mouth unabashed as she ate.

So did Edward.

On all sides she was being studied.

She set her plate aside. "I am afraid I am exhausted and while the food is delicious, I am in less than a state to eat much."

Henry frowned. "You must gather your strength back, and if you do not eat it all, I shall be forced to feed you by hand."

She growled and methodically picked at her food, taking smaller bites.

They both still gaped at her.

She assessed Edward was most likely imagining her lips wrapped around his cock, but what could the king be envisioning?

She hoped it was something innocent, or her appetite would vanish even more.

"You stare, my lord," she observed.

"You see fault with that?" the king asked.

She set down her goblet of wine. "I find fault with your taste. Why you think I'm worth being near at all, I cannot fathom."

He chuckled low and it sounded dark, like his soul. "Many women would say the same about me. I'm accused of all sorts of atrocities, and you have yet to question me on how I disposed of my wives so callously."

He reached for his wine and imbibed with a generous gulp.

Again, she averted her gaze. It was difficult to watch him eat like he would never be fed again. There was a pitiful desperation about it.

And that was when it took hold of her—he had nothing. The poor man's only enjoyments were the simple pleasures like food, so there was no wonder he gripped on to them with rapacity the likes of which she had rarely seen before.

Except for Edward when he was with her in private and ravenous for her touch of course.

And she was the same with her husband in turn.

But there was a peace between her and Edward that transpired at some point—with Henry, she suspected the serenity never tempered his desperation and that was why it stung her deep at the base of her heart.

The poor man.

"So, what say you? Are you repulsed by the rumors tossed about with my name attached?" Henry cocked his head at her.

"I care not of idle gossip. I care not you made mistakes as a young prince. I care not you had other wives that were probably no better for you than my George was for me," she said.

He sputtered and gagged on his drink. This was unexpected somehow? How little he knew of her.

"Did I hear you say you care not I had two of them beheaded?" Henry's eyebrows froze, up high on his forehead.

"You heard me say I know you had your reasons, and I know you do nothing without weighing it out on your soul. I would never presume a king would feel the need to explain his past to me. It is not my place to even speculate, so I avoid such trivial, useless pursuits. I have better things to do like brush fine cloths and boil the linens."

"And how do you know this?" he asked, rimming the edge of his goblet with his ringed forefinger. "That I had my reasons?"

"When I listen to the prattle of court, I can discern what is truth and what is error." She stood and filled up his glass with more wine. "I am not prone to believing exaggerations."

He held up a hand to halt her.

She blinked and set it down. It was her hope and prayer he would drink himself into a stuporous calm, then she could see to the man in the room that really mattered to her and stole her heart. Her eyes flicked over to Edward, and his impassive gaze unsettled her.

Had she said something wrong? Where was that look of unending desire for her? Where was the hunger and heat in his eyes?

She squirmed in her seat for a moment, exhaled then turned her eyes back to the mountainous man, demanding her attention.

"And what truth did you find?" Henry smiled like she was endearing to him.

"Why the most important truth of all," she began. She pushed her plate of half eaten food away and dragged her chair close to him, squinting as she studied his leg.

The king actually blanched as if very uncomfortable and insecure to have her so close to his wound.

"And that truth is?" Henry asked.

"You are the defender of the faith," she stated.

"I am. Or _was_," he clarified.

"You are. But you also divided the country with a new faith," she said.

"But that is not—"

She shushed him with a hissing sound. "It is my turn to speak. If you ask me a question I will answer it, so you must give me leave to do so since you insisted on my surly company."

His eyes opened, seemingly as if in delight.

She released her gaze on his leg. "You walk along a crumbling path, and you do it well, but I can discern you believe neither. You feel God has abandoned you." She searched his eyes. "Do you deny it?"

"I can speak now?" he teased.

Edward laughed, and he grabbed his wine, gulping it down with relish.

She gave him a quick nod. Edward smiled.

"Good God, woman, if you want to keep your clothes on, take care to avoid this aggressive tone with me, for it sets me on fire," Henry said. He rested his hands on the table, his food long forgotten. His fingers stroked the grains of wood in an obscene way as he leered at her.

Edward cleared his throat.

"Answer please," she pressed.

"I believe in God. He controls my destiny, but I have offended him deeply when I took Catherine of Aragon to wife. He will never allow me another son. He offered one through a wife, but I worry he will be taken from me. It pains me to think on it and accept His will, but when I came to that conclusion, I knew I was neither Catholic nor protestant. I was nothing but the Lord's humble servant, trying to find a place in His forgiving heart. I will probably never find relief, but I try." A tear slid down his Majesty's cheek.

She gazed on him with understanding. There was no pity, no condescending look, just friendship and empathy.

"Harry, I practice as a Catholic because I was raised that way, but I fail to believe that faith." She exhaled.

He licked his parched-looking lips. "So you are protestant?"

"No. I find fault with both churches. I believe in the Vulgate, but only when it was read to me by my father," she said.

Henry inhaled deeply with the shock of it. "He had access and spoke Latin?" Obviously, the king did not know as much about her past as she had feared if he was unaware of this piece of information about her father.

Edward was still unreadable, but listening intently.

"He did. He shared it with me every day as I tended to him while he was wasting away." She leaned forward, hushing her tone. "Can you bear to be near a heathen?"

"Can you bear to know I will have to pretend to be married to Catherine Parr while you are in my heart and bed?"

"I can bear anything if I have to," she said, "but I am not the woman for you to marry. I wish for your friendship and to support you in your sojourn as the king of the land, nothing more."

"No?" He gawked at her. "You refuse to . . . ?"

"Yes, I must. God has not revealed to me that I should be in this position. I am happy to be the royal laundress, but I do not aspire to anything higher. I am not meant for such high life."

She stood and nodded then curtsied. "Please do not be disgruntled."

Henry sat speechless.

Edward appeared to be battling a small smile.

When she asked for permission to return to her compartments, the king whimpered.

Edward was out of his chair and at her side forthwith.

"Is your leg vexing you?" she asked, her eyes soft. "I would like to know before I leave your side."

Henry shook his head and looked past her, his eyes glazed over.

She nodded and moved away from him, ready to leave the room.

"I hurt, but it is not my leg. When I am with you my leg feels whole." Henry gave her a pained look then grabbed her hand, pulled it up to his heart. He placed her palm there. "Be in my bed tonight."

"Harry," she said, taking a step back.

His long reach kept her from retreating more.

"Please. I will keep from touching you. I need you near," he said.

Her brow furrowed, and her eyes held mistrust. "I have told you what my answer is. Do not persist thus."

"You will be at my side tonight as a favor to an old sickly man the way you tended to your father. You must. I know you are a wonderful nursemaid."

Edward shifted near, hovered behind her, his breathing loud.

She chuckled. "Guilt is most unbecoming on you when you give it away like that." Her face morphed into a smirk. "A man of your power and esteem need not do this. You have doctors far more capable than I. There is not a whit I can do this in good conscience."

"Please. I beg for some assurity you will at least be with me tomorrow. If I let you go, you'll fly away. It harms me."

She cupped the broken man's cheek and stroked it with her thumb. "Give me your ring."

"Yes, yes, of course, love," Henry said, and he fumbled about to take it off with haste.

"Any time you need me to visit with Edward, send it to me. I will know you are weak or in pain, and I will come to your aid. That is the most I can offer." He handed his ring to her and she studied it then gave it back to him.

"That is the way of the queen as well. She avoids me," he said with a frown.

"But I am not required to do anything, but choose to be your friend. You can decide to accept this or not, and I will respect your decision." She dropped her hand. "Tomorrow Edward has promised to take me hawking with him, but when I return, I can visit you if Your Grace likes."

The king blinked and his lips parted. A soft breath scattered out of him.

"You are to leave me alone when you removed here with me specifically to be at my disposal? This makes no sense," Henry balked.

"I never answered your quest for my hand in marriage. You had no reason to suppose I would accept."

He blinked hard. "But I am the king!"

"And I am the laundress," she reminded him. She squeezed his shoulder, reached back for Edward and took his arm.

"I will let you know tomorrow. Right now I wish to be alone," Henry said, pouting.

"Very wise, Sire." She moved with haste as Edward pulled her along.

Once deposited in her chamber, she gasped as if she had been holding her breath for many hours and was just now afforded the rare opportunity to breathe.

Henry was going to be the death of her and Edward both.

Tonight they had to flee no matter what.

.

.

.

Isabella was sweating as she paced her room and put away her few belongings she had parceled out on her bed earlier to be set in their rightful places, including a few new brushes for the royal clothes. Her hope was she would have need of them on Edward's broadcloths.

It mattered not what he wore—his person looked glorious and regal in any fabric and style.

How Henry could stand to have such a spectacular specimen of a man, his own blood, too, nearby and stealing all eyes, was something she failed to comprehend.

She certainly had a difficult time looking at anything other than Edward when he was in the vicinity.

Her fingers wound tight around one of the fine filigreed brushes, and she ran the back of it across her cheek slowly.

Tears flooded her eyes as she considered how much she had paid for this implement out of her own purse. All for Edward.

She could have bought herself a dress to look less like a mare next to him, but it was more important to her she take excellent care of his clothing, and make him look as impeccable as possible.

There was a time she had those things at her disposal, and had more fine dresses than she could count, but that was the old her . . . Edward would not have liked that woman. She certainly did not.

Her eyes cast to the door.

Where was he anyway?

Was he lingering in the corridors again?

She had need of him, and Henry must be in his own privy chambers by now . . .

_Cliiiiick._

Her door unlatched behind her, but she kept turned away, unwilling to face him with her countenance all harrowed and shriveled with disgust. She hoped he would bend her over her bed and do with her as his passions dictated. Her skirt brushed up against the mattress and her thighs tingled.

"I am glad you are come, dear heart," she murmured.

One more sweep of the brush . . . Then she could march away from this place and forget all the comforts Edward would nigh have all because of her inferior position she chose to take on in court life.

Feet shuffled behind her, and they dragged as if exhausted beyond measure.

"We have much to do, and my heart aches for you more than I can bear." She swept the brush down her clothes, imagining what it must be like to wear such finery again and become a woman of means.

Her hair shifted, and a humid breath rained down the back of her neck.

"I am glad you feel this way," the king's voice quaked behind her. "My heart and body ache for you as well . . ."

"Ssssfffffffaaaah," she sucked in a burning breath and rounded on him.

His eyes flashed with outrage. "You have been abused! There are teeth marks on your delicate, slender neck," he said. He ripped her sleeve off her right shoulder. He gasped. More bite marks and bruises from passionate hands and lips decorated along her fair skin, making it obvious she had been severely manhandled.

"Sire, it is not what you s-s-surmise," she stammered, pulling at her sleeve and holding it back in place as it tried to flop off.

_Riiiiiip!_

The other sleeve was shredded. More exasperated growls from the king, and before long, he had her dress lying in tatters all around her, along with her shift. All she had to cover her were her own two labor-strengthened arms and the small hands God had gifted her with.

She sobbed, tried to explain, but he only circled her, snarled and threatened to whip the culprit until their flesh was hanging off the bone.

Right as she stepped toward him, ready to give her body to the king, hoping to spare Edward from being discovered and killed, the door clicked open and a horrified Edward stormed in and picked her up, shielding her naked body from his odious brother.

"She is mine!" Edward bellowed. "You cannot take her from me."

"What? How dare you treat her thusly! You are a dangerous, disgusting devil!"

Edward's grip loosened, enabling her to wiggle away. She grabbed a muslin dress she had rested over the back of a chair to pack away and hauled it over her head in great haste.

_Crash!_

Henry tackled his brother to ground and was smashing any object he could find into Edward's face.

"Ahhhhhhh, no! No, my love, get up, run! We hide," she wailed, clawing at Henry's brawny, fat encrusted arms and his talons covered in wrinkled, coarse skin. "I hate you! You will never have me! Let him go! Let my husband go!"

"God damn you both to hell!" Henry roared. His fingers went around Edward's neck and squeezed.

His face turned bright red as Edward's turned a purplish hue.

That was when a raging river broke through the dam inside her, and she kicked Henry in his bad leg so hard, she heard a nasty, sickening _snaaaaap_!

"Ohhhhh God! Christ, you . . . bitch! You are a devil-woman, a siren sent to destroy me and my brother!" The king rolled off Edward, clutched his leg and cursed so loud, she could swear the tapestries on the walls shook.

Edward crawled for a moment until he reached her. She bent over, helped him up, and he choked out a plea, "Run! Darling, you must hie away!"

"Not without you, love! I die without my beloved," she whispered with a coarse, dying groan.

"I cannot run—I am injured," Edward said, pointing at his ankle.

She did the only thing she could think of. Her legs raced over to the bed, she tore the counterpane off, flung it on the floor, rolled him onto it, and then dragged him out the back doors of the castle. It would be slow and arduous, but she could find a way for them to escape the influence of an embittered old man with an unhealthy obsession for one married and insignificant laundress.

**A/N:**

**Author's license on filigree. It wasn't used until the next century, but I couldn't resist. Carry on . . .**

**Also, one of the reasons it's believed Henry gained so much weight in his later years was a jousting accident he was involved in when he was in his late 30's. His horse, fully armored like he was, bucked and fell on top of him, during one of his jousts with his best friend, Charles Brandon. The fall damaged Henry's leg. For years, it would bother him. At times it would open, drain with foul smelling puss and push out splinters of bone, causing him massive amounts of pain. He had to use a cane to walk, and since he could no longer be the athletic prince he once was, things changed. Before this incident, he loved wrestling, jousting, bowling, hunting all hours of the day and night, tennis, and fencing—and did them all regularly and with such precision, he was considered a marvel to behold, unbeatable by most, and quite a gorgeous man with comely calves to look upon. He was always at feasts of one type or another, and consequently, he put on large amounts of weight. The man was also known to have quite the sweet tooth, as did his daughter, the future Queen Elizabeth whose teeth rotted in her later years because of her penchant for sugary dishes. This appetite of his obviously didn't help matters much for him, when he could barely walk. But the parties continued, because Henry loved having a lively, festive court with constant dancing, feasts and celebrations. It was an envied position if you were a servant at court—you got to experience all this generous King had to offer, and there was nothing quite like his court or being in his favor.**

**All right… Enough lessons. We must know how Edward will fare as his brash bride takes over to keep his skin on his bones. Brave woman, or foolish? You decide.  
**

**Posted early, but you'll still get another chapter on Monday-I promise.**

**Chanse**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Isabella panted and groaned as she heaved Edward up onto his destrier.

My God, he was heavy.

"I am sorry," he kept repeating, reaching out for her. "I harm you. You must leave me behind, love. I slow you down, and I cannot even fathom how I could survive if Henry got his hands on you!"

"Shush! Be a silent man for five damn minutes so I can secure us. There are few servants here in this household. You know this, and with how much pain I inflicted on his leg, he may be passed out in there. We have precious little time to escape," she said, securing him to the saddle. But

He gave her the saddest, most regretful eyes ever.

"I love you—with every breath it grows stronger. You do not deserve this," he whimpered, obviously in copious amounts of pain.

It was egregious they must depart like this—fugitives on the run—enemies of the crown, but there was nothing more they could do.

"I deserve to be with you. We both deserve love, and I love you more than the moon loves the stars it caresses and woos nightly." She cupped his cheek. "But now we ride to preserve this love. No more talk of how vexing this is. Now we flee and live another fortnight. It is worth it all to me, so no more talk of us parting ways. It pains me more than you know to hear it."

"Always the dreamer," he said, his eyes full of admiration.

"Self-preservation is what I aspire to in this moment."

She managed to get on the horse with him. Her intention was to ride behind him, but he would have none of that. "You must be in my arms. I steer the horse and you."

She squealed and accepted his choice.

He knew best.

"Shtuh, shtuh!" he urged the horse on, and it took off at a brisk, blinding pace.

After several minutes, she pulled his left hand up to hers, and kissed his knuckles then rubbed her cheek across the back of his hand.

"Where to, my pretty lady?"

"Back home—Cumbria," she said, blowing out a puff of air.

Riding back all that distance would be a tedious journey. She had not been there since Father died. Her heart clenched to think on his final days, and how she never desired to return to that spot.

George took her away, and she was glad of it.

Henry VIII's popularity varied in her home town. Some of the nobles admired him; others thought him the devil come to take away their souls.

She used to be aloof to talk of politics, but now it was enraging. It was the mace splitting her heart in two.

It was the reason Edward was now most assuredly banished.

She cared not she would be outcast, but her dear husband? He deserved to live a life of comfort and peace.

Surviving outside of court would be easy enough for her. But for Edward? She was unsure how he would fare.

He belonged there.

And what of his debt?

Would the king ever let this go? Unlikely.

They had humiliated him in the highest order that anyone could ever be shamed. Even if Henry had always been patient and generous with his kindness toward her, she had this sinking, drowning feeling inside her he had been concealing the explosive wrath that dwelled inside his egocentric, monstrously large chest.

Visions of one of his favors he had gifted her, entered her mind. It was from his old jousting days, and the token had his emblem stitched on. The meaning of this crest was: God and My Right.

The man used that phrase several times around her when he was very much embroiled about something having to do with his passions for her. Manipulative bastard.

Edward had even used it once around her as well, but with him—it was not about controlling her and getting his way. It was more like a plea to God to allow him to have this small pittance—to love her without reproach from anyone on the Earth.

How had this happened? She meant to forever hide in shadows, take none of the king's notice, and she was now caught up in his world of bitterness.

"Darling, we must rest," Edward said. "The horse needs water and food, and my leg throbs with swelling pains. Let us find a stop in the next town. We can find lodging and sleep then travel again in a few hours."

She patted his leg. "Can I look at your injury when we arrive?"

"You may do whatever you wish so long as you allow me to prop it on something soft and durable." He kissed her shoulder.

Her head pounded, and her breathing picked up as they rounded their way into a small town.

What if they knew who Edward was? Would the report of their whereabouts get back to Henry?

"Do we even have coin with us?" she asked.

"I always keep a purse hidden in the saddle. I never wanted to be without money ever again."

She sighed in relief. "Thank the stars you are well prepared and your horse was nearby. Your keen mind will keep us from sleeping out in the wild."

He gripped her hip and turned the horse toward a small, charming inn.

"Maybe I should go see to this since you are wounded?"

"Yes, I think that would be best, or would be if I wanted to continue and sit here with blood pooling into my foot. I need to get up and move around," he said.

He slipped her off the horse, and she tried to help him down, but he refused to put any real weight on her.

Her hands shook as she secured the horse to the first stable she could find.

Edward limped behind her, offering praise and instructions when needed.

They made their way inside, and a young woman with alabaster hair, shiny, luminous gray eyes and tiny, thin lips breathed in awe, "Edward—the future king and Lord!" She curtsied.

"Oh God," Isabella groaned.

"No, no, dear lady. I am none of those things. Merely a man traveling with his new bride. I am mistaken for the king's brother frequently. I am Lord George Morley, and this is Lady Agnes Morley. We have traveled for many hours, and our horse is in need of nourishment and rest."

The woman gave him a skeptical look.

"I know that red hair," she said.

"It is remarkable how the Cumbrian sun can tint a man's hair exotic shades of red," Isabella said, running her hands through it and making a grand show of how much she admired his locks.

"Cumbria? You do not sound from that corner of the earth." The woman set her hands on her hips.

Isabella slipped into the peculiar accent that was not quite purebred English, nor Scottish. It was somewhere in between with a sassy lilt.

Edward gripped her around the shoulders and leaned some of his heft into her. She could tell he was about to collapse.

"If you do not mind, I try to hide that lineage of mine around these parts. Cumbrians have a black mark in some people's minds, and we wish to travel in peace," Isabella said, the accent gone. "If you will . . . A room?"

The woman blinked, her eyes roved over him once more, and when his face paled and he stumbled for a moment, she rushed at them.

"Is he all right? Is he ill?"

"He fell off the horse and his ankle got trampled a little. Our charger spooked, and his leg swells. I would be much obliged if you could give me the means to make a poultice and a bed to rest him on." Isabella gripped his hand, steadying him.

The woman bustled about, crowing about how she fell off a horse once, and couldn't walk after that for a whole sennight.

Good God, but this woman liked to prattle on more than the birds liked to chirp.

"If you please—he tires, and his weight is closing down on me," Isabella pleaded.

The woman perked back up and led the way down the corridor.

"I have only this one room with a large enough bed for two," she said, waving them in.

"Thank you. I will settle him then return to you to pay our bill," Isabella said.

"No charge." The woman gave him an appreciative look.

Isabella turned away from her and rolled her eyes.

Edward had a grayish pallor now, his eyes were barely opened and he was drenched with sweat.

"Please, water," he whispered and licked his lips.

"Right away, dear heart. I will take care of you," Isabella said.

"What if the bone is broken?" the inn keeper asked.

"It is not broken, merely bruised and weakened. I know broken bones when I see them," Isabella lied. She did not want this woman to know anything at all in case the king's forces found the chatty woman and asked questions.

"I will leave you to tend to him then," the woman said and slipped out.

Isabella stripped him down to cool his flesh.

He moaned in pain several times as she jostled him around.

She ran back out to the woman, asked for supplies to make a poultice.

When she returned to the room, he was unconscious and muttering something about how he bit her, tore her flesh and consumed her because he could not stop. He could never stop.

"I have the same problem," she said softly, smiling at this beloved man. Even now, she could not help running her fingers over his cheeks and kissing his forehead.

He did not rouse no matter how much she touched him. Her chest tightened and pangs of fear shot down her spine. She mopped his brow and cried over her husband, lying in an incoherent pile of uselessness.

She prayed Henry was ten times as broken, battered and suffering.

If he was not, she'd see to it he would be soon.

.

.

.

All night, Edward choked on hoarse moans.

She changed out his poultice many times and kept a vigil over him.

The swelling was still present, but his color was better after a few hours of sleep, a meal and some ale.

She helped him back onto his horse then joined him. Without looking back, they rode away.

They took back-roads, kept out of sight as much as possible.

Their only stops were for food and to relieve themselves when needed.

Bitter dregs were the food of her thoughts, and sorrow her traveling companion. Tears were her veil.

Edward's bride should be of a cheerful demeanor and capable of charming a court and keeping the king in their good graces.

She had failed so many times, her heart ached.

It seemed as if she'd aged in her few days of travel and limped worse than the king when she finally arrived at her destination. Edward was barely mobile at all.

Rose Castle towered over them, casting a shady gloom on her visage.

She barely kept the tears in as she approached the door.

Edward sat off to the side, inspecting his leg.

Her knock was quiet, but she could hear the echo of it ringing on the other side in the corridors.

The door opened and her old guardian, Bishop Olson, stumbled forward and fell to his knees. He bowed at her feet. "Majesty!" he cried.

Burning tears streamed down her face. "Please . . . I never want to be called that."

He cowered before her. "But you've come home. It can only mean you intend to finally claim your crown!"

She stepped past him. "I never wanted that crown, and nothing has changed. I only need a home. Right now I need help for my wounded husband."

Edward stood and followed after her, wincing and trying to stay erect.

Bishop rushed to find help, and two servants flocked to Edward's side.

"Send for my physician," she said.

"But this is most irregular," the Bishop replied.

She swept past servants preparing a meal, bypassed other bishops gawking at her, and ignored it all. Her focus was on her husband and his waning strength.

If they had taken even one more hour more, he might have lost consciousness.

Edward gawked at her when they opened the royal chambers for her.

"You did not tell me," Edward said, eyes big and rounded.

"I did not want to acknowledge this past life—it grieves me, and—"

"This is why you understood my desire to shun any desire for the throne," he said, his tone deep and scratchy. He coughed.

She flew to his side and rubbed his back.

"There is nothing royal about me. I was meant for menial labor and a simple life. I detest court life when I am told this farthing of a body is a ruby. Why? Why must I be something I am not? I refuse to accept it."

Edward blinked, swallowed and stared at her like she was a new creature, morphed and ascending out of a cocoon.

"Please do not look at me thus," she said, averting her gaze.

She pulled down the counterpane along with the linen sheets and pointed for those in assistance to lower him in to place.

They did as she specified and then she told them to leave at once.

Edward smiled at her, his eyes glassy and his hand on her thigh.

"Have I ever told you how your scent of lavender, moonlight and love calms me? It is the combination of all things Isabella that drives me to bow at your feet. Even if you were merely a laundress, I would ever feel compelled to worship you."

"Shhh . . . Ravings, love. You are with the fever and you know not of what you speak." She kissed his burning forehead and ran her hands through his damp hair. "There is no need to waste energy on speech."

"No, you must know—you have to listen. When I first touched you, I knew. My skin was prickling, and at first, I thought you a great witch. I pondered if you had cast a spell on me, but when Henry touched you, I knew . . ." He coughed and turned his head away. When his head swirled back, his eyes grew heavy. This was taxing him.

"I will allow you one more sentence, and then you must desist. You weary your body, and I cannot allow that." She kept stroking his hair and placing kisses along his hairline and temples.

So beautiful, even when unwell. He was her angel in the night; sent straight from the cosmos.

"I saw how you captivated him as well, and I knew it was no magic. It is you, my dear wife. You are without guile. You speak plain and bold, and it livens the soul and brightens even an old man's fading, blackened bones. Only you, my love, could do that."

"And what of your touch on my skin? You scorch and singe, and I lose the ability to think or even speak like a woman with any education at all." She sighed and offered a weak smile.

"Lie with me. I must share more in case . . . In case," he wheezed and tried to prop himself up as he reached for her.

"There is no case in which this is necessary, but if it makes you feel better, you can share one more thought. Then you are to silence your mind and rest," she pleaded.

She curled into his side, stroked his cheek and hummed.

He snuggled into the comfortable flock stuffed mattress.

"You do too much," she said, guilt sweeping through her over the fact she was enjoying being this close to him.

"You smell like the many waters I know so well around here," she said. "There are wildflowers in the woods, and they are most peculiar. They emit a musky odor; neither mint nor heavy spice, but more like a hint of sandalwood. My head would buzz when I got to close to them, and it would take me a few moments to get my bearings back. I craved that smell every few days. And I would think about how beautiful they were all around the edge of the clean, purifying waters. This is nothing compared to you, though," she told him, looking up in his eyes, angling her neck back to take in his beautiful face. "When I am touched by you, inhale your scent, it can take me an hour or more to return back to myself, and sometimes all night. I think of it constantly. You crawl into my skin; you are the waters over-running my veins, and the haunted smell in my head. I can never get you out, and for that, I thank God."

"You are too sweet and precious to me." He pulled her tight into his arms but his strength gave out on him quickly and his arms went lax. "I will nary regret a moment I spent simply looking at you and being in your presence."

"I will sing for you until the doctor comes. You think on pleasant things and of the waters and flowers nearby I will show to you as soon as your health allows."

His fingers drifted through her hair and he nodded minutely.

She sang of silvery buttercups, dancing on the silken webs of fairies. She lilted about green people, basking on toadstools who cursed the travelers hunting in their revered lands and leaving behind carrion and waste. Then the melody shifted and it spoke of gentler times—nobler people who cared not of excess or wealth, but only of love, born in a spirit of forgiveness and light.

He fell asleep to the sound of her voice and the feel of her fingertips dancing across his chest.

When the doctor arrived, she growled.

Her husband was at peace, but there was no choice.

"Wait for two minutes more," she begged. "I have to see to it he is ready for this."

"There is no way to prepare," Doctor Lightam said.

"There is a way for the heart to prepare for a battered husband to howl into the night over broken bones—and if you do not give me this, you will be dismissed from the court's services forthwith." She pointed at the door. "Give me ten minutes instead, and before you enter my chambers, you call out first. I will admit you only if I am ready."

The man harrumphed and departed without another word.

She glared after him.

How alarmingly easy it was to slip back into this role.

Royalty was in her blood, but she hid it deep down in the crevices of her identity, abhorring it every second she let it take over.

Majestic sounds of sprightly music traveled through the walls, and Scottish brogue crept into her pores.

It would not be long before she sounded exactly like the rest of them. And Edward might not like what he saw; might not approve of her deep Scottish heritage.

A bastard child no less, and from an illegitimate daughter as well.

She was taught one thing she cherished—how to love. How to share and be tender to all she cared for.

Her fingers stroked his chest and she kissed her way down his navel.

"Edward, my great love, you must wake now," she said, her voice soft and somber.

"Mmmnn," he mumbled.

"I want to please you before you go through great agony," she said.

Her fingers deftly unlaced his codpiece, and she stroked the flaccid flesh that lay loose inside.

"The warmth here is good, and your smell is so strong. It gives me vigor, and I want to give that back to you," she said, drawing a languid lick down the appendage.

His eyes opened and his breath caught in his throat.

"Dear God," he said, staring down at her.

She smiled, and since their time was short, she sucked him in her hot, wet mouth and hoped this would pleasure him.

His hands flew into her hair, and he yanked, hissed and his hips rolled around.

The shaft elongated, filled with even more heat and blood, and occupied her mouth until she could not fit all of him, he swelled so greatly.

Her tiny hands surrounded what could not be crammed past her lips.

A few times she had to let go so she could swallow properly, but the minute she did that, he would almost fly off the bed. "Please, God, do not stop. Be a vixen, be the mouth that destroys me." He yanked at her hair, pulling her back on.

She latched around the root for a second and then had to pull back a little so she would not gag.

"Oh, God, yes . . . P-please, keep me there . . ." His chest rose and fell in sporadic waves like the tide breaking on a shore with choppy, violent sprays. "You have to . . . Darling woman, have to fiiih-fiiiih . . . Hoooo," he panted, "finnnnish! My seed is yours!"

She suckled harder, touched the manly sack so ripe and full behind his hard, thick cock. How many times had she considered touching him there? It was morally wrong, was it not?

She swallowed around him as best as she could.

He howled with pure satisfaction.

She cared not if it broke every one of God's commands. If she went to Hell for bringing this angelic man some Heaven before slaughtering pain became him, she would gladly travel there of her own free will.

She rolled the rounded sack, tugged lightly and stroked with firm, even motions.

His eyes drifted back in his head, his hips thrust violently and he fucked her mouth like a wild animal.

"Oh, Christ! I see nothing—only y-you! And you . . . You have a wicked tongue—I die for it! I die for you! Oh, pleeeeease!" he moaned and thrashed. "Harder. Faster. Break me!"

She let go of his sack, reached further back and raked her nails across his ass and he twisted in the linens then cried out, "Fuuuuuuuck! Love you! Mother of God, you are _mine_!"

Seeds poured forth into the empty, awaiting vessel of her mouth, and she knew now why he liked to suck his seeds back up. It was all him—his essence. The flavor was less than sweet, but she would drink his semen everyday if she knew it gave him this kind of euphoric moment where all he could do was manage to levitate and shout obscenities in the most primal way possible.

She patted his chest and let him be rough with her. It was a sign his strength was returning, and she could not fault him for his passion.

After a few minutes of him regaining his breath, he turned to her.

"Isaaaabella! God, I want you! I want more . . ." he rasped. His fingers clung to her hair. He pulled; his eyes scorched her and tore into her. "Please, I need to fuck you!"

"We mustn't. The doctor returns swiftly," she said, scooting away. "And you are spent—your seeds emptied." She pointed at his cock, but oddly, it was once more upturned, engorged and elongated.

"Oh God help us," she whispered.

"I do not need help—I just need you." He grabbed her, heaved her up on top of him, and he impaled her as she straddled his thighs.

Christ! She knew this was most assuredly not allowed!

**A/N:**

**A few of you have asked me about the word cunny. It was the slang word for cunt and didn't actually start being used until the 17th century. So, most likely it wasn't used until after Henry VIII's time, since he died in 1547. Philippa Gregory used it in the** _**Other Boleyn Girl**_**, and I loved the word so much, I was excited to use it for this story. Now you know-she used author's creative license, and I took it from her. :)**

**A few more words some of us American's might not be familiar with… At least I wasn't and had to research so I'd know what they meant: **

**Carrion: decaying, rotting flesh (isn't it lovely she used this in a song to put her ailing husband to sleep?)**

**Counterpane: I'm sure most of you have figured this out by now. It's a bedspread, and it was thick enough she could drag Edward on it out to his horse.**

**Sennight: a week**

**I've been asked to start a blog for my stories, so I did. The address is on my profile if you want to see some visuals for this chapter and for the story. I posted a picture of Rose Cottage in Cumbria, Henry's crest, and even put up a youtube video of someone with a Cumbrian accent if you're curious what it sounds like. This way those of us that are visual, can see what the characters surroundings are like. If there are past chapters in this story with something you'd like to see that is talked about as well, let me know, and I'll do my best to oblige.**

**Also, I'm being asked if this story is HEA. Absolutely. I promise they'll be together, with their heads firmly attached to their shoulders. Breathe easy, dear hearts. Breathe easy and let Edward have his wicked way. You won't regret it.**

**Chanse**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"Slip your hips over me," Edward said. "Take me deep."

She gasped at his naughtiness, but it was so heavenly, she failed to stop and talk to him about how this could breed eternal damnation to their souls.

_Rap, rap, rap._

"It is the medical help you seek," the doctor shouted.

"We are not ready. Ten minutes more I require," she hollered.

She heard a few voices and a scattering of footsteps.

"They know I fuck my wife, and though I can scarcely walk and be of much use in any other capacity, I give her pleasure and steal her seeds." He grinned.

"You have a talent for wiping my mind of anything but your desire, my lord," she breathed.

He pulled her down by the shoulders, licked at her lips, and she opened her mouth to him.

His tongue explored and invaded, much like his cock, pumping furiously inside her.

"Does this vex your leg?" she asked when he suddenly jolted a little and winced.

"Not at all. I fear I cannot hold out much longer . . . You grow wetter with each passing thrust, and the sight of you atop me, my God!" He cupped her breasts, leaned up and took hold of a nipple. His tongue wrapped around it and then he nibbled, causing her to moan like she wallowed in sin and sensual delights without any fear of God and his wrath.

"Oh, please, make that sound again," he said, tugging with his teeth on her nipple and grasping a hip, forcing her to slam herself down on him.

"Ohhhhhh Jessssus!" She arched into it.

"Shiiiit!" he gritted. His hips rolled and his cock stiffened harder and swelled inside her.

She tried to keep him quiet with kisses, but he grew louder as he neared his release.

"This is what he wanted . . . This with you!" he growled. "To hell with his busted up, puss-infested leg. He would put you atop his great monstrous belly to have you!"

She shook her head. "Shhh, love. Do not carry on so." She leaned forward, presenting her breasts to him in hopes it would keep his mouth busy and his mind off Henry.

He pressed his face between them, licked and sucked in the valley while he inhaled deeply. His fingers rolled her nipples as he bit along the inner curve of her chest. "He cannot have this! Cannot have you!"

"Only you can have me," she affirmed.

He grunted, his hands flew to her hips and he held them still as he rammed himself inside her like he would die if he did not increase the friction and heat.

Her fluids dribbled down her thighs in this position.

She reached down to wick it away before he noticed, but the moment she touched the moisture, he encircled her wrist and shoved her hand up to his face. His tongue licked, prodded and sucked at the juices and he made this rough, scratchy sound deep in his chest.

"Sucked my cock, now I taste you while I am inside, fucking you like a madman," he said, his eyes piercing into her. And when that tongue stabbed between her fingers suggestively and the tip of his cock reached impossibly higher inside her, rubbing something sensitive, her back arched deeper and she bit her lip to keep from screaming.

But it was too late. She already had.

It fueled his lust into all-consuming flames. "My wife! My cunny I drench with seed!" He bit her neck and his fluids launched inside her.

She collapsed on top of his chest and they both struggled to find enough air for their lungs.

Her entire body trembled and began to slow, yet he continued to thrash and it strengthened.

"Edward . . . ?"

A tight, squeezing sound emitted out of him like his chest was being trampled, and he convulsed so wildly, she was flung off him.

His eyes were rolled up in his head, and it sped up.

This was not orgasm—this was the spin of death!

"Doctor!" she screeched. She slapped her shift on and she lurched toward the door.

Three guards and the doctor barreled into the chamber.

Edward's bottom half was strewn over the edge of the bed, and his body was pale and jerking all over out of control.

His nakedness was nothing. He was expiring!

"Save this man, or you will be thrust to Hell with my boot at the back of your neck!" she yelled.

The doctor placed a tray down next to her flailing husband, and tipped Edward's head back.

An elixir was dropped into his throat a little at a time, and within mere seconds, the undulations ceased.

She fell to her husband's side. "I am sorry. I should not have . . ." Tears drenched her cheeks, kissed his chest while baptizing his skin.

"This man needs much help," the doctor proclaimed.

"Less of your blustering talk and more medicine!" she insisted.

She draped the covers over her husband's manhood, kept a little distance as she strewn herself out next to him.

"What can I do?" she asked.

"Speak to him. He can hear—his spirit will know you pray for his health and good humours to return." The doctor glanced at her state and glared. "And do not touch him. You have already thrown his body into turmoil."

"I am sorry, I thought . . ." She swiped at her dripping nose and then wiped it on her shift. Her head shook from side to side. She refused to believe her making love to him would do this. How could something so right for him be harmful? "What else can be done?"

"I must bleed him, milady," the doctor said.

"No!"

"But there is no other way," he argued, his dark eyes narrowed and rife with annoyance.

"This man has already suffered enough, and if he loses blood, it could mean he expires. See to another means. You may brace his leg since I believe his ankle may be broken. You may make poultices, give elixirs, herbs, and even call in a wise woman, but you will never bleed this man. The blood in his veins is there for me and me alone." She set her hand on his bad leg. It twitched.

"How can a woman know of such things as broken bones?"

"A woman such as myself who has toiled now for years on end, saw many harrowing things that would turn your blood into ash. I wanted to live, and I wanted to lose the crowded shelter I grew up in, and that is what I did." She shifted in the bed away from Edward. All at once, memories assaulted her of what she'd done to break free of this spoiled life years ago, and of how she'd worked hard like a peasant and did whatever was necessary to get away from it all. It was worth it.

On this bed now, next to her husband, it was all worth it to know him, and to have some knowledge of how a broken body could mend after being abused.

She got up and tidied the room, found him a night shirt and managed to put it on him as the doctor went about procuring a diagnosis.

He prodded Edward's ankle, and she was glad her husband was unconscious. This would be excruciating with how swollen the tissues were and the way his foot lay at an awkward angle.

"You may take as much time as you need," she said when she sat back down on the bed.

"I will, and I need privacy for this next part," the doctor replied.

"Absolutely not. I do not leave his side ever." She set her hand back on Edward's thigh.

"Then you must face embarrassment," he said.

"And you must face it as well." She stared in his eyes, refusing to be bullied.

He pulled the covers down, inspected Edward's penis, his sack and even his anus.

"The color is good," he pronounced.

"Well, praise be to all the holy seraphim on high, my husband's virility is secured. What does this have to do with his leg?" she bit out, her chest heated in agitation. Did this doctor know anything at all about the healing arts?

"It means his humours are trying to balance. If he were too ill and about to die, the testes would hang really low and be pale in color. His anus would be blanched. This high color means his body is on the mend, and his seed can continue to be shared once he is strong enough."

"Thank you," she said and pulled the sheet back up, covering Edward's most private areas.

"You are welcome," the doctor said, thin lips compressed into an almost mocking, derisive look.

She needed to find another doctor soon. This man disliked her immensely.

"You are dismissed. Leave behind the tinctures, and I will see to him myself," she said.

"This is unheard of!" his shrill voice ripped through the air.

"And you are a burdensome, unhappy troll of a man. Leave, and I will replace you with someone who shows me proper respect." She pointed at the door.

His face reddened and his fists tucked into his sides. "Good fortune to you then, because a little woman cannot possibly prescribe the right—"

"Did I ask for a discourse?" Her face twisted tight and she glared at him. "No! I did not." She exhaled with a harsh winded sound. "Leave. Now!" She kicked in the air toward him, uncaring if he saw any of her cunny or not. This man lacked a heart and soul, so he was neither human nor a doctor.

He left, and she sighed then rested at Edward's side.

"Madame, I know of a very talented doctor who is not far from here," one of the guards said.

"Will you fetch him for me?"

"That I will," he said, nodding.

"If you can bring me a man of medicine that can heal my Edward, you will be rewarded handsomely," she told him.

He smiled and departed so fast, the tapestries moved in response to the air being sucked out with him.

"There, there, my love. You will be well taken care of," she said. "And I will conceive a son for you—many sons. All you need do is continue breathing and living for us, for our love." She kissed the corner of his mouth and then fell back away, afraid she might harm him.

After what seemed like an eternity, a short, squat dark man entered the room with the guard behind him.

She beamed. "Pray, tell me your name, good doctor."

"Seamus O'Connell," he answered. "And I can already see this man is suffering from a broken ankle."

Her chest warmed at this man. "I thought as much. Do you know how to fix it?"

"Aye, madame, that I do. He will need assistance walking for a spell, but I can patch him up so he will be a whole man again." He stepped over to the array of medicines in bottles and decanters. "Who brought this?"

"A doctor with no regard to human suffering," she answered.

"It seems this man mostly brought spirits for himself to imbibe. He has quite a collection," he said, chuckling.

"Bastard!" she gritted through her teeth.

"Yes, yes, he is quite the boorish vermin, that man," he said, nodding along as he picked at the few salvageable items. The rest he ordered be carried out of the premises.

He rolled up his sleeves, made a concoction that smelled of the likes of camphor.

"This should dull the pain considerably when he awakens," he said. "Apply it generously as needed."

She immediately liked this man. He showed her how to care for her mate, and trusted her to do it well.

"The swelling should also go down, but first, I need to set his bones right," he said.

He felt around the puffy ankle, and bit his bottom lip as he strained to move them back into place.

She squirmed and fidgeted; worried this was painful to her lover.

But Edward was motionless and peaceful in his sleeping-state.

That did not fare well either, did it? "When will he rouse? Should this not have spurred him awake?"

"It is different for various individuals. His body sleeps to recuperate, and we do well to let it be." He held the ankle in place once he had it where he wanted it.

"Hand me the strips I laid out on the edge of the bed over there one at a time," he instructed.

When had he set these out? She could not recall.

They worked in silence, and soon, Edward's leg was wrapped from the toes to mid-calf. It was thick and bulky, but she breathed easier knowing something had been done.

He gave her several more liniments and tinctures.

Right before he exited her chambers, she thanked him profusely.

He bowed, thanked her in return for her trust and said he would be back in the morning to check on him.

All night she tried to ease his suffering, and though the medicine only took the edge off, it was enough for him to grab moments of sleep when he could.

It was good to see him occasionally alert, and she thanked the Lord he would be fine.

The irony was he would need a walking aid for the next few weeks—not unlike his tyrant brother, Henry.

.

.

.

"Come here, darling. You are too far away," Edward groused, reaching for her.

"I am making you fresh bandages," she said. "That is first, and then you will be lavished upon."

"No, those can wait. I have a dire need of you to be in my arms," he said.

"You mean you have a dire need to be between my legs," she said, smirking and giving him a knowing smile.

"Whatever do you mean, dear wife?" He stifled a chuckle.

"You are certainly on the mend, for your manhood is constantly aroused and asking for a house visit from your favorite nurse."

"For shame. Do not tell Nurse William about this; he might think I am a sodomite." He reached with his fingers flexing and straining for her.

"You are too naughty. You _must_ be well," she said, shooing his hands away. "William is a nice man, and a great help. You should not tease thusly." But she could not stop laughing at how silly he was being.

"Fine . . . I shall take care of my needs myself, and you can choose to watch if you like." He pushed his night shorts down, pulled out his rigid cock and stroked it.

When her eyes went wide and flamed with desire, he licked his lips and growled, "You want to touch my hardened male flesh? You want to know how it burns for you?"

"N-no, I . . . My lord, you are distracting me. Your leg still has much healing to do." She swallowed and tried to look away, but it was impossible.

His tip was glistening with an opalescent dew drop. The overwhelming urge to lick it off, assaulted her, and she felt almost woozy. Her arms braced her on the edge of the bed.

"What is the matter, wife? Does it shock you to know I cannot forebear when you are in my presence? That if you refuse to touch me, I will do it myself? I _need_ you, and I ache to find my way back in your body. It has been too long," he gritted, tugging his shaft ever harder. He groaned when he worked to the tip that now oozed and dripped down the length of him.

"You will not be satisfied until you kill me by seduction," she said, rolling her body back onto the bed.

She moved his hand off his lusty flesh, wrapped her hands around it instead and took charge.

A heat blossomed in her chest, settled in her gut then grew larger until it encompassed her cunny and made it throb.

"I will not have sex with you right now. Not until you are fully healed," she said.

"I ask only that you love me, wife, that is all." He smiled and watched her small hands pump him up and down. "I leave this to your good conscience. Either I die with my cock buried inside you, or I die from not having you. It is your choice how I depart this world. I'd rather do it in a happy fashion."

"Good Lord—that is quite the guilt ridden speech. How long did you practice it in your head before sharing?" She leaned over, bit at the hem of his shirt and lifted it up to his neck.

His hands were in her hair, and she licked his nipple then nipped at it.

"Oh, that is nice . . . Bite me . . . Dig into my flesh and prove I am strong enough to handle my woman," he said with a husky tone.

She sucked at his tightening nipple, gripped harder at his cock and leveraged her weight into it a little so the grasp was even more intense.

He tossed and turned in ecstasy, bit his lip and panted. "Lower . . . Grip my sack . . . Tug on it, and make me see God . . ." He grabbed her hair and pulled, forcing a moan to tear out of her throat.

She kept her mouth off his cock, no matter how much she longed to taste him.

Last time it led to intercourse, and him flopping about the bed like a fish out of water, gasping for air.

She would be damned if she did that to him again. Until he was walking around, his bones mended, she refused to ride him no matter how much or how often he begged for her silky cunny to envelop his flesh.

"I am almost . . . Christ . . . My seed waits for yours . . . You cannot do me thus—get on top of me," he said, his voice thick with his pleading.

His hands clenched around her waist, and he hefted her up over him, settling her over his cock.

He lifted her skirts, but she pushed them back down.

"I will give you friction with my clothes on, but that is all I do," she said, narrowing her eyes at him and giving him a warning look.

She tucked her skirts between her thighs so they covered her hole he sought out, and she leaned her palms into the pillow on either side of his head.

She ground into his cock, moaning at the wonderful friction it gave her in return.

"That is not what you need . . . You need me inside you. You need more—goddammit, lift these infernal skirts," he cried out, his back arching and his fingers frantically ripping at the fabric that would not budge or make way for him.

"No! You do not choose to risk your health for sex," she said, stilling her hips.

"Do not stop! For the love of God and my right as your husband, I order you to sink your flesh onto me now!" he hissed.

She leaned over, bit his chest so hard, he screamed out and yanked her hair in a fistful to get her to stop.

But instead of letting go, she slammed her cloth covered cunny over his length as hard as she could.

"Isabellllllaaaaa!" His body tensed then writhed as he came undone.

She released her teeth, watching his glorious face as he released his seed all over her skirts.

"Yes, love, have this . . . It is safe, and I want to love you . . ."

"Then do it," he whimpered, still trying to gain access. "I die to have you. I dream of your silken, creamy flesh all the time. Please mount my cock—take it deep so I will not expire!"

"I want to so much, but I cannot. I will keep you safe." She kissed him in a rush then exhaled. "You will survive. Many years you were without this, so it will not kill you to wait a few weeks before we join together as man and wife and share our seeds again."

"_Weeks_!" His hands ripped her skirt. "No! I refuse to wait that long! I would rather die from sex than not have it!"

She laughed and managed to get off him. "I do so love your impassioned pleas."

"I know you do. You relish in my begging like a pathetic man on his knees."

"Not so, my lord. I only love knowing you are as mad for me as I am for you. I can barely breathe when I see you lying in our bed all day half dressed. You have a body meant for the gods. It is truly unfair that one man should hold so much beauty."

"Stop torturing this god-like body then. I mend faster if I have lots of sex. It fixes the humours and gives my body the exercise it craves."

"Good God how you do rally for your cause and stop at nothing to attain your goals." She patted his chest, finally moved away from him and went back to her original intent—making his new dressings for his leg.

He probably was fine without the poultice, but she was overly cautious where he was concerned.

"As soon as I am walking, you will let me fuck you," he said."As many times in a day as my body will allow. And that's a lot. No complaints from you, and no fighting it or I bite you in places you cannot imagine exist."

"Aye, Edward. I will expect to devote an entire sennight to your lasciviousness. I will not rest until you have thoroughly debauched your wife. And I look forward to the biting in unmentionable places. Sounds like something I will enjoy immensely." A shiver ran down her spine and her toes tried to curl. God, it sounded so sensual and deviant, and like everything she craved deep down in her bones. "How does that sound?"

"Like something I must have this instant," he said through his clenched jaw.

"You would think that your seeds were still trapped inside you, but my skirts attest to the contrary." She pointed at his semen on her clothes. Big wet spots adorned her dress.

"Now, do not complain. I will take care of you and then change my clothes."

"In front of me? You are too wicked," he said, smiling, raking his eyes over her and spending an inordinate amount of time on her breasts.

"If you behave while I take care of your leg, then if it pleases my lord, yes, I will undress in front of you." She gave a mock curtsy and went about attending to his leg.

The swelling was much less, but still present enough she was concerned.

She kissed his ankle, his foot, his leg and was as gentle as possible. Each time he winced as the bandages wound around his leg, she bit back tears.

"Such a brave, inspiring man. I love how you trust me, dear heart. It means so much to me that you allow a mere woman to do this for you." She caressed his thigh.

"I have no choice, now do I?" The corners of his mouth twitched like he was fighting back a grin.

"I am serious," she said. "Do you know how much it means to me you think me capable of taking care of you? Most men do not allow a woman to do this for them."

"You cared for your father, and if I know anything at all, it is that I am always in good hands with you. You only hurt me if I ask you to, and how I do cherish those rough, unbidden moments when your primal instincts take over. You are a glorious creature indeed when you are drunk with lust for me. Why would I ever fail to trust you? You risked your life to save mine, and I am forever indebted to you."

"Hush, no, no," she said, shaking her head. It hurt her heart to hear him say he thought himself owing her anything at all. "This is talk unfitting of a royal."

"Listen, Isabella. Even if you had left me behind like I had asked you to do, I would still owe you my life since you gave me a soul. You gave me life, and without you, I had nothing—no purpose, and no fight in me for much of anything. It was a wonder I deigned to breathe a single day before I knew you." His eyes filled with tears. "'Til the end of my days, I will live for your pleasure, and yours alone, no matter what may come of me. It is all that matters to this man." He rested his hand on his chest.

She climbed up onto the bed, crawled over and snuggled into his side.

"You have a golden heart, and I cherish that you share any of it with me." She turned and kissed him then a few happy tears spilled forth.

"Now _that_, is talk unbecoming of a royal—I swear you could be hung from the gallows for those unseemly words." He chuckled and her head bounced on his chest.

"Soon I will love you so right with my body, you will fail to walk because of weak legs," she said.

"Can I get that vow on parchment, please?"

She rested her hand on his chest. "I am fresh out of it, but for now, how about I let you watch me undress?"

"Yes, that . . . Good plan," he stiffened beneath her.

"I know . . . I am a wanton woman, and I know what you like." She got off the bed and commenced to strip down, smiling at him and maintaining eye contact all the while.

**A/N:**

**I finally figured out my obsession with this time period. It's not that Henry VIII is such a complex king and has some Dom qualities I so admire, it's that these women didn't wear knickers and sex could run rampant at the lifting of a skirt. That's the time period I should have obviously been born into. *double snort***

**Also, I was asked how old Henry is in this story. He's 53 at the beginning of the story (and we're seeing the tail end of his life), and for people of that time period, that was quite a long life. Most people died in their 30's. It's amazing he lived as long as he did when he was so hefty about the waist. It's believed he had diabetes, and that's what ailed him so much with his leg and circulation issues. It may even be what killed him in the end. That's a topic that's debated frequently with historians and fans.**

**I've posted the teaser for the next chapter on my blog and today I talk about medicine in Tudor times. The address is in my profile. Enjoy!**

**Chanse**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Edward sighed and grimaced.

He disliked it greatly when William attended to his ankle, rather than his wife, but today she was required for business affairs. Now that she was back in her court there were expectations placed on her. No matter how much she tried to demur to the other counselors who had taken over in her absence, her loyal subjects seemed intent on putting her back in power.

She was miserable each time they forced matters upon her.

He would hold her tonight, coo softly in her ear and caress her seeds out of her with his hands and tongue.

She would like that.

He smiled until _riiiiip_!

"Ow, goddammit! Be careful, please!" Edward said, his leg burning at the way William tore the bandages off.

He sucked in large volumes of air, trying to suffer through the pain as best he could.

"The doctor says I must be firm, otherwise it will never heal," William said.

"Well, to devil with that doctor, I say," Edward hissed.

"And I do, too. He is an odd man. But then . . ." William averted his eyes away from Edward and tended to his leg.

"Then what? Come, come—you cannot engage me and then drop it like the reins on a wild stallion being broken in. I must know, or my mind will run wild like a horse would do." Edward stared at him.

"I was going to say, but then you married a very peculiar woman. No one understands her," William said. His face pinched at the corners, as if he was expecting a blow to come hurtling his way.

"Speak your mind. I am not my brother. My anger stays in check unless someone tries to fondle Isabella—then by all means, I turn into a savage, mindless brute."

William chuckled. "If you are certain?"

"I am." Edward nodded.

William unwound the rest of the bandages and his touch was a little less harsh now.

Edward would have to remember to talk to him and keep his mind engaged next time he was to handle Edward's leg in the place of the doctor or his wife.

"You know her background?"

"Not much," Edward admitted. There was a stinging in his chest over this fact. He wanted to know all about her, but she was hesitant to delve into her past, even though they were now surrounded by her people and enveloped in her land.

"Then I will tell you what I know." William took a deep breath and smeared the liniments on Edward's leg. His nose wrinkled at the smell. "James IV had a mistress: Mary Abigail Swan, his own laundress. She became pregnant and birthed a daughter; your wife."

"Do tell," Edward said, amused by how William seemed to be reveling in gossiping like one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting.

William continued, smiling at a memory of perhaps a happier time, "That baby girl, Isabella Marie Swan, was sent to be raised in a nunnery. As she matured, she fell in love and then lay in sin with Bishop Still."

Edward's chest clenched like a metal trap snapped down upon it, and he ceased breathing.

He wanted to say this could not be true, but his thoughts were tied in knots in his head.

"This was how Isabella Swan, your woman now fleeing King Henry, came about, and later married George Knighting. The reason she insisted she marry that man was because it promised obscurity. She would be hidden and nobody would think her a threat to the Scottish throne." William was setting the bandages in place now.

Edward's legs twitched. He wanted to jump out of bed, run down the corridors and scream until this all made sense, or until he could find her and make her prove this was all artifice conjured by William for his own amusement.

"Not many people were aware of her existence, since her own parents kept her hidden away. Maybe they were waiting for the right opportunity to bring her forward? I am uncertain why they acted this way or why she has removed herself from her rightful station. This is why I fail to understand her. Why snub the crown and a life of wealth and luxury? It makes not a whit of sense."

Edward inhaled but it was a struggle to do it. "Perhaps she treasured her life too much to squabble it over a crown she knew she'd never own. And maybe it was her stubborn belief she never deserved such a position of power."

"It was with incredulity she realized how close she came to marrying a man more powerful than any other when Henry became besotted with her, I'd wager. She most likely panicked and you were the solution." William tied the bandages off.

"You are dismissed, and I want to hear no more of this," Edward said, waving him away.

William bowed and exited.

Preposterous!

She hated the calumny of royals—the way they tried to unseat their own bloodline in order to advance their self. It disgusted her the way it did him. And he was damned sure she hoped they could leave this place soon so she could give up the keys and powers that were being thrust upon her this very moment.

It was not in her nature to prance about and be concerned with her own vanity.

Isabella Cullen: that was who she was now, and that was who she'd remain. It was safer, and someday she could have a family with him they could both treasure and love—a child to protect and care for. And if she ever bore him a son, she would name him Harry, just to spite his awful brother.

.

.

.

Harry stomped his foot as he sat at his table with papers of business scattered about.

For weeks he had been searching for his beloved Isabella. Edward stole her away, and there was a fire in his belly over it.

He stormed, he raged, and demanded she be found.

Now in the middle of this mass of gleaming wood sat the ruby ring of his he had meant to give to her the day he fell and was wounded in her presence. She was to come to him, and he would have seduced her; consummated their marriage. The damned woman flew off, never to return, and his brother with her.

She drove him mad with lust and his urges were upsetting—taking over his head.

He pulled a fresh paper out and began to write, his fist trembling.

_My Dove_

_You do me great harm, and the solemnest vows are not to be ignored. You promised to be mine, and we are betrothed. You are mine in the sight of God. I gave you the proof you required, and here sits my ring, twisting at my heart like a rag you use for washing._

_Am I discardable that you treat me thus? Am I nothing more than a stale old man to be shunned?_

_I cannot believe it. I cannot accept it._

_Edward has fooled you, and your marriage to him is a farce. I will erase it and make it so it never existed._

_Forthwith, I command you to return to your true husband's side, your loyal devoted king, and be an ever obedient, docile wife._

_That you do right by God, you will submit to my wisdom with goodwill and cheer, for I have nothing but love and forgiveness to offer you._

_Good woman, return with haste. Spare not a moment and leave upon receiving this letter. Edward need not know._

_God wills it, I will it, and I shall not be denied._

_You do well to remember I am a wrathful, jealous man, and I cannot abide the thought of you being in any company other than my own. You do not wish to see me in a full fit of temper, and I shall even consider forgiving him for trying to steal what is mine._

_I can understand why he was so tempted—you are a siren, Isabella, and you do pull a man's heart straight from his chest._

_I can give latitude and spare him if you return to me with utmost haste._

_Do you not recall the way I cherished our moments together?_

_Do you not remember what you did to me? I have failed to be the same since before you met me. And I refuse to be that man any more._

_Do not torture me thus—I cannot bear it, my lovely bride._

_Please, dearest love, return. I will accommodate all your wishes; make you comfortable in all circumstances._

_I send this ring because you injure me by never taking it that day I experienced a misstep. You said you would come if I sent it and nurse me back to health. Well, now is the time. I send it to you, my heart needs mending—keep your word, great lady. It is yours now and is only to be sent back to me when it is on your finger and you are ready to be a true wife in every sense of the word._

_God and my right_

_Harry_

He stamped it with his royal seal and made sure to include the ring.

His voice boomed as he called for the man that came calling with supposed news of his lovely dove.

"What is your name?" Harry demanded.

"Robert Swan," he said.

"_Still_?" Harry paused. He knew that name. "How do you know Isabella Swan?"

The man trembled but remained silent.

Harry slapped the table. "Do you know what it means to betray a king's trust?"

"I do, Sire," Robert answered.

"Yet you refuse to tell me," Harry said.

Robert bowed. "I made a vow to keep that answer hidden."

"And did you make a vow to never reveal where she hides from me? To what end? Why come here to court? To torture me?"

"I do not mean to vex you—only assist. And, yes, I did make a vow," Robert said, but there was mischief in his eyes. "But if you were to guess where she resides, Majesty, then I might be able to nod my head without speaking a word."

"_Guess_? What kind of foolish games are these?" Harry's face heated as his temper rose.

The man bowed deeper. His chiseled jaw shifted as he smiled.

"Does my agony amuse you?" Harry asked.

"No, but hers does."

"I could have you whipped for saying such a vile thing," Harry threatened.

Robert stood and put his hands on his hips. "You could, but how would that further your cause? I do know who and where she is."

"Then, dammit, man, tell me now!" Harry shoved the document in his hand.

"Maybe you need to think about how much you know about her." Robert tucked the note away in his vest.

"Do you think I'm a dolt? I know who she is," Harry said. Yes, he knew before he ever took her away for their week of what should have been marital bliss. "I care not at all she has Scottish royalty in her veins. Nor do I care she had a lapse of conviction and went with my brother. She does not acknowledge her heritage, so why should I?"

Robert sighed. "Then it's no bother of mine." He stepped forward and pulled something out of the other side of his vest. "She took this from you before she left. I believe she loves you—I've never seen my sister in such a state before. She cries when she thinks to be alone, but I have seen it. Since you are my king, and I am subject to you, I think it my duty to tell you she is in Rose Castle. But before you charge off as if on an inquisition, know this—our people there in Cumbria . . ."

"They hate me," Harry finished for him.

"Not all, obviously, but a great many do. You could change that if you married her in open for your entire realm to witness," Robert said, a grand smile spread wide across his face. "And if you were to be rid of your pain in the arse brother."

Harry grabbed his cane and shook it in his face. "I will do only what Isabella will allow. You cannot possibly be her brother with these vain ambitions of yours. Now, leave my sight before I have you racked!"

Robert scowled, refused to bow and left.

Harry ordered two of his men to follow Robert and accompany him to Rose Castle. They were charged to ensure Isabella received his note and ring.

If she sent back a letter of refusal or ignored him, he would make a scene she would never forget, and Edward would be lucky if he survived the rest of that night.

He would take the largest procession ever assembled straight to Rose Castle and batter those walls down until she was his.

.

.

.

Isabella read the letter with her heart in her throat and her eyes so wide, they were dry and sore.

Like all other documents that contained proof of her lineage, she tossed it in the fire. It pained her to do so when she knew, along with the whole country, how much Henry loathed writing letters and what kind of heavy import he put on this.

The ring, though? What to do with that incriminating piece of evidence? Edward would be vexed if he found out about it, and right now she needed him calm so he could continue to heal. But they were discovered, they needed to flee.

She hung her head and bit her heel into the ground.

What should she do? Risk Edward having a relapse of ill health?

Should she keep still and admit defeat? How long could Henry live? He was old and in poor health.

Maybe she should accept his hand? Edward would outlive the king, and when Henry was dead they could live in peace and remarry.

An anguished growl bubbled up out of her constricting throat. She glanced at the door.

Harry's men were right outside her chambers, arguing with Robert.

She never heard her brother's brogue as thick as this. Was he trying to prove they were Scottish mules? Difficult to control and stubborn to a fault? This was not helping.

She swung the door open and grabbed Robert inside her chamber.

"This is your fault," she said.

"Mine?" He went into a long rant in such a garbled accented tongue _she_ could barely understand him.

It was always his wish she be on the throne of Scotland.

He had no royal blood. They shared their mother—someone of no consequence, and his father was a simple farmer.

They never could understand each other's way of thinking.

He was yet another part of the reason she left, thinking never to return after their father died—well, Robert's father, the man who raised them both.

She tired of her brother's plotting and scheming.

George became the perfect escape and the end to Robert's futile plans for her. Robert rallied several of the bishops and household of Rose Castle to defend his stance, but to no avail.

"It sickens me to think of how for years you have placed me in a position of great danger so you could gain power. I have finally found happiness," she barked.

He smiled.

"I do nothing but what God requires," he answered.

"Are you finished? You sound foolish. Do you hear your wagging tongue?" she asked.

He frowned then paced. "I hear you rejecting your God-given right to a throne better than one you already deserve! Henry hands it to you on a golden ruby-studded platter. I have freed you from this makeshift castle your real father gave as a concession to ease his guilt for failing to acknowledge you and for doing nothing to advance you in the royal line."

She put the ring on her finger. "Look at this, Robert. And really look. It is not mine! Never was!"

He leaned forward and stared at her ring. "It's the king's. He was incensed you never took it. He swears it is yours."

"Does it look like it fits to you? It slides off my thumb, and I do not want it. I have a ring from a man I die to have every minute of every day. I was never a good fit to rule here in our own land. Yet you try to shove me in a position I do not belong to. I wash clothes. I fix what is soiled, nothing more. I want nothing other than a common family," she said. "And Edward is happy to do the same with me. We crave obscurity."

He stepped on her toe and got right in her face. "That lunatic king desires you in a way only he can. He ransacked our country for one woman, and he'll do it again for you. Can your conscience accept that you would make our people suffer for your own selfish reasons? You don't have to destroy people—bishops like your own here in your home. Make peace. Give that man what he wants. Can you not pretend to love him for a time?"

There was a flash of guilt across his face.

"What. Did. You. Tell. Him?" she said through clenched teeth.

He clapped his hands together. "I told him precisely who you are, where you are, and that you pine away for him with salty tears every moment of every day."

She groaned, "Aaah!" She turned away from him. "I should have stuffed your shitty mouth with rotten potatoes before I ever consented to let you leave this castle so you would remember we are nothing! I should have known not to trust you, and that you would seek Henry out. There is a reason I have not allowed you to become acquainted with Edward—and now you know why! We are nothing better than peasants. All of us."

"Only because you choose to be insignificant." He stood taller and jammed his foot down on her toe harder, smashing his boot in.

She winced. "Robert, if you do not leave my chamber now and stop asking for things you cannot have, I shall have you sent back to Harry where he'll torture you with his own brand of punishment."

He left with his teeth grinding so loud she cringed.

Isabella stepped out and gave instructions to the men in the corridor.

They listened carefully, and left with another parchment to give the king.

This was the letter she never thought she would share with him. But he deserved to know.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Harry read it for the third time. It was euphoria, and it was damnation. It was love, and it was abomination.

How could he ever figure this woman out? She perplexed and mesmerized him to a frightening degree. His chest felt flayed open, all for her.

_Harry_

_You may know who I am, and you may know where I am, but where my heart is—that you shall never know. For I have no complete answer for myself, other than I wish to stay where I am._

_I have tried to quell the desire to see you and explain so you would have mercy, but it will not abate._

_I think we may need to meet privately, and I will hold you to a promise to refrain from harming your brother, otherwise I will be forced to disappear for good, and you shall never see this woman's visage again._

_If you agree, then I shall set a suitable date and time._

_What vexes me dearly is that you persist and still think me capable of being a satisfactory wife to you. I do not rule well in my land, and I would be worse in yours. You said Catherine Parr would be known as queen amongst the people, but I know enough to realize you would not be content with this. How long 'til you would cast her aside?_

_I never want to be decked in jewels, or costly fur robes. I hope there is never a day a crown is set upon my head. Those honors are bestowed on people such as yourself and your lovely wife, Catherine. I washed for you—I cleaned your clothes so you could present yourself in a regal manner. Nothing more._

_The peon that scrubs the shit out of royal breeches is never meant to lie in their master's bed._

_I told you once I cared not at all to have George's dogs on my bed. I lied._

_I not only detested it, but it made me feel less than any whore that he would allow his flea infested dogs to sleep on the bed with me when they had roamed, what I now know to be filth encrusted brothels where he sodomized others and lost his soul. I was treated as refuse, but even that was more desirable than being a queen._

_Now, why do I mention this, great lord?_

_Because you mean to do the opposite. You say we will continue to be discreet, that I can be exactly who I am—a common woman content to spin at home with modest clothing to wear and no jewels to speak of but your lone ring—but it will not be so. I know you. You are no liar. Nay, nor am I. We cannot hide what we are to each other if I succumb to you and give you what you want. In our one day together, you made certain we kissed in front of others. You groped me in front of servants while we were on your horse._

_What will happen when we are wed? And what of my beloved Edward? What of Catherine Parr? What of your children? Elizabeth loves Catherine, and she will abhor me. I refuse to be the divisive implement in your family when family is so dear to me._

_I will always care for you as my goodly king. I will ever be your faithful subject, but from afar in Rose Castle near my Scottish soil I sprung from, and with my husband, Edward at my side._

_You will remain where you belong, and go back to your life before me._

_We will always have a part of each other, and I will keep your ring as a reminder, unless you desire it back. Your wish is my command, but only in so far as it means we remain as separate individuals with our own roles to play._

_Once in a dream, your dove, but flown far away to her nest_

_Isabella_

Harry tucked it up against his breast and called for the one person that could help him.

She was a trying woman. So much confusion and apprehension from her. Most likely it was Edward's doing—meddling with her mind.

She loved Henry, and not as a king, but as a man—he knew it, most assuredly.

And he would not stop until she faced the truth and ceased denying the bliss they were meant to share as man and wife.

.

.

.

Isabella toiled in the kitchen today, avoiding Edward.

He could tell she was edgy because he kept asking her what was vexing her so.

The idea of leaving and harming his leg, weighed heavy on her. The laundry had become a stark reminder of exactly whose garments she used to care for as well, so she toiled with the clothes, upsetting all her servants in the vicinity.

Not only did she attend to the clothes, she also chose to take charge of other household duties.

Cooking was a blessed relief even if she burned most everything she touched.

She stirred the pottage the same way she stirred the laundry—brusque and rough and with an uncaring hand.

It soothed her soul to do it.

Robert avoided her, and they hadn't spoken since she demanded he leave her chamber and her presence.

It was better he keep away—her moods were so unpredictable and he would be able to verify she did indeed cry all the day long in spurts, but not due to missing an unwanted amorous king.

He lied before. Nobody ever saw her do it. She found excuses to be alone so she could release the pent up emotions that welled in her breast throughout the day.

Here in the back of the castle, she was alone and left to her own destructive tendencies toward food.

Nobody dared to inhale the aroma of her cooking, or ingest one bite.

"You cannot go in there!" Bishop Olson yelled.

A moment later the door to the kitchen squeaked and opened.

Red feathery hair caught Isabella's eye.

"Princess Elizabeth," Isabella acknowledged and curtsied.

When Isabella stood and looked to the princess, her mouth fell open.

Elizabeth curtsied even lower down to her—_Isabella_!

"I come to beg forgiveness for the king. He knows not what to do to win your favor. My father loves you so much, and wants nothing but peace for our land," Elizabeth said.

"I'm sorry, but did you say you are asking my forgiveness in his stead?" Isabella stumbled back against the wall, and then swung her skirt away from the fire.

"I did. Father desires to meet with you as your letter proposed. He pleaded with me to undo the vicious things he said and did to you. But he needn't ask. I only want his happiness, and it is my duty to show Christian kindness. The king has told me of your background, and how you wish to remain anonymous. I really came here today to ask you if this is true, Have you denied your own birthrights?" Elizabeth's voice broke at the end.

Isabella could tell it was unfathomable to Elizabeth that any person with even a bit of royal blood in them and the faintest hint of accession to the throne would do anything other than their utmost to get there.

Isabella's shoulders rounded forward. "I have no desire to even live court life. Why does he think I hid in the bowels of the castle, in the laundry? A home with a family and my lovely Edward—that is all I wish. If I have food, a bed to sleep in and a husband that loves me above all else then I would be the most fortunate woman in all of England."

"And it seems you shall have all those things. He is broken without you, and he intends to do all you bid." Elizabeth smiled. "Even pardon his brother, though he is an extremely jealous man. I think it atrocious Edward stole you hie away. He had no right. The king's pleasure comes first."

"Might I suggest it is difficult to understand as an innocent youth untouched by a man? Edward knows what I need, and I fulfill him as well. We fit."

"It is not for royalty to marry for love."

"Yet the king means to," Isabella retorted.

"Quite—he breaks rules, yes, but he is the only one that can. You are to do what you are told since you are beneath him."

Tears streamed down Isabella's face. "He'll have me now after all I've said and done to him? He will leave Edward alive and in peace?"

"He will. And I have to warn you, if you hurt my father, I shall hire someone to kill you in your sleep, and Edward will befall a similar fate shortly after. I do not know my uncle, Edward, nor do I care to. He is an abomination to our bloodline."

Isabella chuckled, shaking her head. How wrong and misled this young girl was. "You have no need of wasting one bit of money on me for that. I will end my life myself if I harm him in any way at all for I know it would mean destruction to Edward. I will consider his proposal, and I will discuss it with him when we meet."

"Excellent. I will tell him you are agreeable to discuss the terms of marriage."

Isabella ignored the nauseating lump in her gut, curtsied and nodded.

Elizabeth removed herself from the room, and Isabella ran to her chamber. She had to see Edward once more before this dreaded meeting took place.

The second she inhaled his scent and looked at his perfect face while he slept, she fell apart.

She lurched at him, wrapped her body around him and lifted her skirts.

Her face was tucked into his neck. "I need you, Edward. Please, I cannot wait. I am sorry, so sorry, I do not wish to hurt your leg, but I must make love to you. Give me your seed; I beg of you."

Her hands shook as she tore his clothes off like a wild heathen.

"Yes, thank you God!" he said, aiding her to strip him bare.

"Please, let me feel you—every inch of skin inside me, make it burn, sear my soul. Make me forget about the nightmare that is your brother!" She dug into his shoulders, her nails raking and leaving long red lines on his skin.

Her lips found his cock and she sucked him as far back as she could, savoring his unique flavor.

Tears battered the backs of her eyes, but she blinked them away.

Each breath was heaven—inhaling him, embedding him into her body.

"Isabella, please let me fuck you now. Darling, you have to let go or I lose my seeds right this instant," he pleaded, cupping the side of her head and trying to wrench her mouth off him.

She let go with a dragging of her lips and he grunted at the release.

"Is your leg well enough to mount me?" she asked.

"Fuck if it is not ready—I do not care. I will be the man and plunge into you so hard you fail to breathe." His desperate hands tore at her skirts, lifting them. He was inside her in one hard thrust, and his hands wrangled her breasts out of the bodice.

They were trussed up and in his face. He sucked them, kissed and bit, licked until he could barely contain himself.

"My God, your body was made for me. Like Eve made from Adam's rib—you were fashioned from a string of my heart, sprung to life from the blood of fire and passion. I cannot resist you, wife. I die a little inside when you deny me this. I must be one with you always." He grabbed her ass, shoved her hips up to meet his greedy, insatiable thrusts. "We create a child this time. A son to prove you are ripe for only me!"

"Yes, Edward—I will. I will keep your seed and nourish it in my womb. I will love it every second I increase," she vowed.

Her insides tightened, trying to keep him inside her for as long as possible.

"Christ—you are like a hardened, silken rope, knotted about, squeezing me so tight. Keep me there, love, keep me . . . Ohhhhhh gaaaawd, I will release soon. Please, let us give seeds together." His hand flew to her clitoris and he kneaded it, made her quiver beneath him.

Her little hands were everywhere, tugging at his hair, forcing his mouth to latch onto hers. Then she gripped his ass, claiming his unearthly, raw masculine power.

She could never have enough. Never!

_Please, God, let me conceive . . ._

She closed her eyes, and he whispered in her ear, "Your seed is mine—cover my cock with it now!"

Her womb contracted then exploded violently, making her seeds gush out of her in great rushes.

"Ahhhhhh, Edward, my love! I give it to you! Take it!" Her nails dragged down his ass, and her lower back lifted off the bed.

He groaned her name along with several incoherent words. His release was long, harsh and so gratifying she broke down into womanly tears.

"That was the entrance to Heaven," she sighed. _Or Hell _. . .

"It was indeed. See why I must have you? Sex is a boon, not a threat to my health." He chuckled, rolled off her and draped her over his chest.

Her body went numb as her heart shut down.

This was possibly the last time she would know this man's smile and touch. How could she go on?

"Edward . . . ?"

"Yes, darling?" He moaned out a long, exhausted, sated breath. His arms went lax on her back.

"If ever you doubt my love for you—I want you to remember this—what we have together when we are one. The way our bodies cannot deny we are meant for one another. Will you promise me this?" She blinked away a few salty, frightened tears.

"You need not fear. I will never forget this. How could I?"

"You, Sire, are a perfect angel, and some day, God will require you return to him. I shall mourn your departure with a heavy heart." She kissed his chest, closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

Not yet. She could not leave yet . . .


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Harry's litter could not move fast enough for him. He was giddy inside over surprising her and taking the upper hand back, if he ever had it in regards to her. His rounded chin quivered as he barked out orders for more speed, but it was his great heft that slowed them down.

He damned his appetite, he damned his mangled leg, and damned his own hands for scaring her by always touching her in the brief moments they'd had. If he had been patient, maybe she would have stayed and not left. Maybe she would have found him infinitely superior to his damned brother.

Isabella—how he missed her. And those duckies . . . how he longed to kiss them and rub his erection all over them while he showed her his true affection for her.

She was his light in the darkness, and would be his warmth in his bed and heart. She was what he wished he had known as his first and only wife. England never had such a humble, honest queen, and they deserved to know her. But Isabella wanted none of that—baffling woman.

And he was selfish—willing to have her without sharing her with the masses as long as she would turn away from Edward.

He bunched his fists and stared at his servants with an evil glint.

If they cared at all about his mental health, then they would find a way to make this litter fly.

When the carriage finally slowed and stopped, he roared, "Get me inside there at once, and if Isabella escapes out a back door there shall be nothing but fire and brimstone rained down upon all your heads!"

He was assisted out, handed his cane and his gift he brought for her. It seemed so ridiculous in comparison to what he wanted to adorn her with.

A path was cleared for him and he worked his way inside.

When he moved past the corridor into the greeting hall, he was flummoxed.

There stood Isabella, curtsying in a white crushed velvet dress trimmed with ermine. She wore her hair up in intricate twists and knots and pearls dotted her raven hair. Tendrils swept down around her neck, tempting him to touch and taste her there.

He rushed faster across the rug than he ever thought possible and pulled her up with one arm. "You do not want jewels, a portion of my crown, or even fancy clothing," his eyes swept over her magnificence in this dazzling dress, "but I insist I be able to give my wife flowers from time to time. Is that agreeable to you? I assume this dress means you are to wed me."

She was somber and nodded all at once.

"I need certain assurances Edward will be spared. I want it in writing, and I want a body guard placed over him at all times. I also require he be given a noble estate out of the way where he can retire in peace," she breathed, her breasts heaving. "And I want all his debts forgiven and dismissed."

His eyes followed those duckies and his mouth watered.

"You shall have all you require, if you will give me what I want, and I have a great appetite for you, my dove. You can see I am ready to solidify this marriage in any bed of your choosing." His tongue darted out and moistened his bottom lip.

She would taste like a fine sugared candy, doused in the best wine. And he would drench his tongue with her candied spiced cream.

He pushed the daisies into her hand and offered a weak smile back.

"I will make you very happy—never doubt that."

"I know we will both do our best to make a fine match," she said.

His heart skidded and broke into a raging tempo. He had to bend over to gain his breath back.

"The things you do to me. I swear if I did not know you to be a wonderful, righteous, godly woman, I would think you bewitch me with torturous spells." He glanced up at her through his lashes.

Her expression was blank, but he could feel the anticipation boiling in her blood.

"And I will be a handsome lover to you—always bringing forth your beloved seed. You shall have an abundance of pleasure." He smiled and panted.

Those breasts would be his undoing.

He throbbed for her in a way that made him want to tear her clothes back off her like he had when he discovered what a brazen beast his brother was with this delicate beauty. How could he bite her like a piece of meat?

"You shall have no marks from me. It will be soft, slow, and give you the intimacy all women long for. Do you believe me, Isabella?" he asked.

She nodded. "I cannot fathom why you would lie. There would be no advantage," she replied with a small shrug.

"Let us away then. I have already had an annulment created for Edward and yourself. All we need now is the formalities to make you mine."

She held up a hand. "First my demands. I shall wait right here as you sign the appropriate documents."

"I find it disheartening you would make me wait and do not trust me to keep my word. Let us wed now. I must have you tonight before I burst into pieces!"

She frowned.

"I have no say already? Where is my happiness to be in this arrangement, then?" She threw her hands up in the air then crossed her arms. Her breasts pushed up and created the most enticing cleavage he had ever witnessed.

His cock hung low and heavy, begging to strip her bare and find what delights lay inside her velvet soft folds.

"Good Lord, you try me," he said. With the aid of his cane, he went about procuring all she demanded.

It took far longer than he wanted, but she was worth it.

That pale comely flesh and those round, shapely duckies were worth it.

And his cock would be satisfied tonight.

Of course he knew, she could deny him. Right this instant, she could tell him to go. But then why would she greet him dressed so? Why would she know what she needed to make this transaction happen?

That dress. God, It was the purest white he had ever seen, and it looked as soft as her milky flesh.

Pure sin.

"You may bring me flowers any time you wish, Sire. And I love daisies. They are so like me—plain, but pretty in their own simple way. I am not hard to please. Do these few things for me, and I shall ever be a docile, pleasant wife and companion."

He growled, "You are not simple or plain. You are a radiant beauty, and I wish I could show you off, but I will settle for taking you back home with me and keeping you in my chambers until I am satisfied you are my wife in every way. My seed shall cover every crevice in your secret places, and you shall know this is right by God."

She reached out and grabbed his hand. "Wait no further. We can marry now that you have done as I asked." She ran her fingers over the parchment he had filled out. His scrawl was hideous, and he failed to care. All he knew was her breasts would be his—mold into his palms.

He reached out to touch one, and she shied away.

"I need privacy, and first a marriage," she said, her rigid spine so tense, she shook a little.

"Yes, yes, we shall wed at once, and then I will be a gentleman and will even let you sleep until you are well rested and ready to have me inside you. Then we travel, and you will ever be at my side."

He laughed and pulled her into a bone rattling hug. His large frame shook her from side to side. A few pearls dropped out of her hair and rained onto his chest.

There was no mirth from her, but she would grow to see the joy in her new fortunate circumstances.

"Do you need to write a letter to say your goodbyes to my brother? I am certain his heart will be crushed into the mire over this, and I cannot blame him." He cupped her cheek with one hand and held her around the waist with the other.

She angled backward. "No, Sire. I have already made my peace, and he will know soon enough what I have done to protect and spare him."

Harry beamed at her. "Good woman, how you do love me and treat me so right."

His hand around her waist drifted down her backside.

She allowed it, but her jaw tightened.

He leaned in and kissed her.

"Flesh like silk—I will dine and feast on pleasure all night, and you will be my banquet."

She flinched then wore a heavy, pained smile. "I will try my best to satisfy your manly urges, my lord."

"Then I will find your Bishop Olson this instant—my winsome little dove."

"Allow me. Your leg must be oppressive after much travel. Relax and I shall see to this," she said.

He released her and she flew out of the room, leaving only her fragrance behind.

When she returned it was with her brother, Robert, his daughter, Princess Elizabeth, and the Bishop.

All smiled brightly and bowed before him, all except her. She kept her head bowed, wore a grim expression and clasped her hands above the V of her cunny.

Harry hugged each of them and told them repeatedly how this was the best day he ever knew.

The service was short, fitting for the king's impatience, and when it was over he forced them all to leave.

"I believe you promised a bed for this king's weary bones," he told his wife.

"I believe you promised to be gentle. I am at your service." She curtsied, her eyes still cast on the floor.

"Isabella, you will look at me as I kiss you, and know I intend to make you happy every moment of your life."

He bent over and kissed her until he was feverish and could not stand it anymore.

"Will any soul dare to enter this room?" he asked.

"No, why?" Her brow furrowed.

"Because I want to take you right here. Damn your bed—it is too far, and as you say, I will be upset when I want to sleep and it be broken into kindling because of my great weight while consummating vigorously." He lowered himself down with great effort and her assistance until he was on the floor.

There was a plush white rug on the ground beneath him so it was not overly uncomfortable. He imagined her being a virgin, and his great cock tearing through it, staining the carpet, creating proof she had been his and no other. His cock twitched several times in rapid succession.

She stared at him, and he at her duckies.

He swallowed and throbbed with a great ferocity. It would be a herculean task to keep from ravaging her. No wonder Edward left teeth marks behind—she was truly delicious with her scent, her rounded, curvy flesh and those alluring eyes.

Yes, every bit of her was meant for a man to consume and enjoy. She was the reason his seed existed.

He positioned his head right in front of the part of her thighs. If he could just taste her ripe, juiciness, he would maybe be a little less jumpy?

It might hurt his knees. He moved back, trying to spread out. Maybe if she was on top?

No, no. That was not allowed. It was forbidden and considered against God's will to make love that way.

But his knees, his leg. How would he bear the pain? He had to have her, had to make love, and he could see even though there was ample room to do this here, his back would most decidedly crack under the strain of his thrusting in this fashion. He always did have a powerful movement when he could not refrain from containing his urges.

And how he longed to be on top, plunging into her tight, wet cunny.

"Isabella, what say you to our consummating right there?" He gestured at the ground. "Perhaps some pillows would make it more pleasant?"

She barely looked. Her hands were already dismantling his clothing from off him. He loved her enthusiasm, but he needed her involvement in this decision.

"It is fine."

"What of your back? Is the fur thick enough for support? Do you think it will hurt my knees?" His voice cracked and went hoarse.

"It will hurt your knees for a surety if you try to be on top. I will mount you like you are my steed, and you will allow me to do it because you need this. I daren't imagine God would punish a wife for loving her husband in a way they both see fitting. It is my sole responsibility to provide a viable heir." She cringed.

He laughed and helped her to remove his clothing faster. "Your mind works in a way I adore. I was thinking the same thing, but worried you would be offended if I mentioned it."

She pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled in a loud sweeping rush.

"I cannot do this," she said.

He tried to sit up, but his great weight crushed him back down to the ground.

"You can!"

"No, I cannot. It is a farce," she said.

And as he bellowed for her to reveal her breasts and take his cock inside her, she left him half naked, stuck on the ground, and she ran out the door, into the night like she had truly transformed into a dove, for he swore she flew away faster than ever.

_._

_._

_._

Edward's breath would not return, and it was due to his missing wife, not his leg he was forcing to bear his weight as he hobbled along, trying to gather what he needed to go after her.

Why would she leave?

Six weeks he had been healing and she had lavished affection on him. He wanted nothing more than her touch.

Well, he wanted to be encased in her lush, velvet heat, but they would have that again soon.

He was walking right now, was he not?

Dammit. Why had he not done this sooner? Forced his body to comply?

She was pushing him to do this, and he had whined, saying the pain was too great. Where was his great prowess as a knight, as a hunter when it came time to prove he could walk and consequently, bed his wife properly?

"We have word, my lord," one of the servants told him in a rush.

They could barely breathe.

"Well? Where the devil is she?"

"She is meeting the king to discuss terms for your release and safety," he replied.

"Aaaaaagh!" Edward screamed and tipped his head back. "No, Isabella, no!"

He tried to run, but his leg buckled from under him.

The man helped him to his feet and struggled under his weight to assist him out to his horse.

"Tell me where to find her," Edward insisted.

The man blurted the information, and Edward was riding off before the sentence was complete.

He could stop this. He had to!

His horse kept a lightning pace, and his heart thundered so loud, it crashed inside his ears, making him deaf to the wind whipping past his head.

His leg stung and ached so much he could barely see.

What was her purpose? To what avail, meeting the king? She knew Henry would do anything to have her, including lie and make bargains he never intended to keep.

Edward urged the horse on, and his ankle burned even more as his heels dug in to spur the beast on.

After a long ride filled with turmoil, he finally arrived.

When he all but fell off his destrier, he was accosted by a hysterical crying woman.

"Edward! I . . . You are here!" Isabella exclaimed. "You found me!"

"What did you do?" He gripped her by the arms and was close to falling on her, his leg threatening to give out on him. "What in God's holy name did you do, wife? Tell me you did not give in to him."

"No! I couldn't. I said the vows, but they are a mockery to God. He would force an annulment on us, but I will disavow the words I shared with him tonight. I am yours. All yours! Please forgive me!" Tears poured down her cheeks and she looked wretched with her red nose and haggard eyes.

"There is nothing to forgive if you run away with me right now," he said, crushing her to his chest.

"Take them both!" the king howled into the night air. "He is a traitor to the crown!"

A mob surrounded them both, twisting their arms behind them, and they were forced to move back inside.

Edward was shoved onto the ground, placed on his stomach and his hands were bound, then his feet. Henry's heavy boot smashed into Edward's lower back. "You will not live past the dawn!"

"And you will never have her love, you piss-soaked, pompous, fat bastard! She cares no more for you than she does your foul, putrid clothes she cleaned for you!" Edward spit at him.

Henry leaned over and his face turned red. "Be careful what you choose to say. I may do it myself right here in front of her!"

"No more!" she wailed, her arms yanking and jerking as she struggled to break free.

The pearls in her hair flew all around as they dislodged, the seams in her dress ripped at the arms. "Henry! I will never be with you if you do this! He must live!"

Henry turned on her then with a sneer, removed his foot off Edward, flipped him over onto his back and rested his fat foot on his brother's weakened ankle.

"Ohhhhhh fucking gaaaaawd!" Edward moaned and he made this cracking, strangled sound as he bit into his bottom lip so hard, it blanched. "Pleeeease, stop!" The strain was so great he feared it would snap in the next exhale. He held his breath and his jaw clenched tight.

"You bring this on yourself. There are consequences to stealing. It is one of the commandments, and you break it knowingly. She is mine. Ever was! You knew this, yet you took her!" Spittle dribbled down Henry's chin.

"Look at me, Sire. I need him to live. I need him whole, and if you break him, I will break your heart by denying all you want." She shook the men off her and stood, arms stretched out wide.

"Isabella—don't!" Edward managed to bite out. "I will take physical pain and death over you being his!"

"But I won't. If you die, I do, too." She stared at Henry, eyes soft, her spine straight, shoulders back and expression resolute. "He lives, and I am yours."

"Throw them both in prison!" Henry cried. "I cannot abide to look at either of them."

Isabella leapt at Edward, but was hauled off him when she got her claws in his shoulders.

She pleaded, screeched, kicked and her dress was damn near in tatters when they removed her from the room.

Edward was dragged out by the legs.

"You do well to convince her to love me like I know she does in her heart," Henry gritted before his departure.

"And you would be more likely to find snow in Hell than have me do anything to thrust her your way." Edward glared.

"This is to your detriment then, and you will suffer because you have no sense of self-preservation." Henry hobbled out the door.

Edward was dragged through the dirt and grass, thrown onto the back of a horse and taken to some remote prison.

He was thrust into a cell, and as he caught his breath and righted himself, he heard the soft whimper of his darling wife.

"Isabella?" He crawled toward her sound in the dark.

His eyes took a moment to adjust but they did, and he saw in the corner of his cell his love bound in an iron maiden, her eyes wide and filled with dread.

"My God in Heaven!" his voice broke along with his heart. "Are you . . . How much pain are you in?"

"Not any more than you," she replied.

Edward had heard of this but thought them a myth. Only his disturbed brother would find a way to get one and employ its use.

"I cannot move or I am pierced," she said, her voice faint and hoarse.

"They will not leave you in there—I swear they shall release you and put me in there in your place," he said, stroking the torture device.

Her hands were fit through holes at the sides but they were stiff. If she moved them, her arms would probably be wounded.

"They said I remain in here as a reminder that I should remember the Virgin Mary's womb, and how the Savior was pierced and died for me. I have to repent—I am a sinner." She closed her eyes and her hands flexed the tiniest bit.

He stroked the tips of her long, graceful fingers. "I am so sorry. I die to see you this way."

"It is better than having him rut on top of me and put his repulsive seed inside me," she said.

She leaned toward him and oh God, the scream of agony that split the air from her a second later, had him clawing at the hinges that were chained and locked shut.

"Please! Release her! I will do anything the king demands!" Edward dragged his foot behind him, circling the cell like a restless animal. Where were the guards? Where had they disappeared to?

"No, Edward . . . I am well. I was surprised—that is all." Isabella gasped.

"Do not move, wife. I will free you!" Fat, weak tears rolled down his cheeks and he spurned his brother, and swore in his heart to crush his brother's leg with a mace when he was free of this place.

He found a metal bench in the room, picked it up and grunted with the exertion and pain it caused him. That did not matter now.

He hooked the leg of it in the chain, slammed his weight down on it, and _whaaaaam_!

"Ahhhh Jesus, no!" she screamed when the chain broke free and she was jostled inside the cage of spikes.

"I will have you in my arms in a moment," he promised.

"N-noh! You will hurt y-yourself," she stammered, her breath catching repeatedly. It was clear the spikes were hampering her at every side.

_Cllllaaaaank!_

The chain fell, his head jerked around the room.

There was only the two of them. No guards around, so he fumbled at the hinges, scratching at them.

He even leaned over and bit at one.

They were rusted, and failed to budge.

He picked the bench back up, rammed it on the top hinge, and she broke into a shrill howl of exquisite pain, "Noooooooohhh, gaaawwwd!"

"Break, damn you! Free her!" he yelled at the contraption.

When the bench hammered down and fell out of his grip at the end, she hollered for him to stop.

The hinge was bent and hung at an awkward angle.

His fingers ripped it off, and then the doors swung open.

She fell into his arms, her entire body bound and wrapped in white linen, keeping her legs sealed shut.

The message was clear—she would spread those legs for no one but the king.

Her hands had been left in the air so they could reach for Henry.

But Edward broke her free with his battered, worn body.

They collapsed to the ground and he tried hard not to gouge into her flesh as he ripped the damn linen and clothes off her.

There was a straw mattress in the corner for him to supposedly sleep on.

It would be for making love instead, and Henry would hear about it from his guards, that Edward spread his wife's legs, parted them as wide as they would go, and impaled her soft, tender flesh until she cried out in indescribable ecstasy.

"My love—are you all right?" he asked, peppering each reddened mark with his soft lips.

"I am now. Thank God you do not listen so well," she said, clinging to him, breathless and pulling him toward her.

In the next moment, he pulled what was left of her wedding dress up at the hem, pressed his tongue to her clit and was determined to give her a greater amount of pleasure to drown out the pain she had just experienced.

By God, she would scream louder than her entrapment had caused, and it would be with his name bruising her throat and his cock laying claim to what was his and his alone.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Edward's hands were always on her. He fed her himself, fawned all over her and always had love filled eyes for her.

"Love, eat more, you must gain your strength back so you can fight him if he tries to take you against your will," he said.

She yawned and stretched out on his lap. "He has not been here yet, and it has been three days. They leave us food and pay us no heed. The guards do not even seem to mind I am out of that hellish spiky prison," she replied.

She reached up and scratched lightly at his jaw. His beard was coming in, and damn him, he was even more beautiful when rugged like this.

She desired him more than ever, and they did not hesitate to make love on the seed-soaked mattress.

It did not matter if anyone heard them.

Though they had never heard any noises from other prisoners, so they were unsure if anyone else was being held here in this place.

"Why would he leave us here like this?" he asked.

"To torture our addled brains. He means to break us down by making us go mad, trying to figure out his evil designs." She nuzzled her head into his lap. "I will not succumb to his wiles—none of them. I am here with you, and that is all I care about. I will cherish each moment I can touch you unfettered and free."

"His design is to make me glut on you so when he takes you away again, I break in the first instant. He is more cunning than the devil." His jaw flexed and his chest tensed.

"Peace, dear heart. Stop this. Let us think of ways we can keep our love alive even if our bodies fail us." She stroked his jaw, and it relaxed at her touch.

He kissed her palm and held it to his lips. His eyes slid closed and he hummed then exhaled like he was releasing a great burden from off his shoulders.

"Though he may beat my carcass into bloody meat, I will never let go of my love for you." His eyes were bright but the water in them reflected from the low level of light.

They both cried frequently.

"Tell me what you imagine our children will be like," she said, her voice far off and dreamy.

"They will be strong like you, and vibr—"

"I am weak. These muscles fail me," she said, settling her palm on his naked chest.

"I refer to your soul, your inner strength. It is unmatched, and that is why he will never break you. You brayed at him like a wolf, screaming in the night. There was no fear in your eyes held for yourself when his men took you and bound you—only fear for me. It was astounding how wholly you love me. That was when I knew I would never let go of you." Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. "That is what I would wish for our children to have. They could be thin, portly, have brown or red hair, freckles or pale skin, and it will mean nothing to me. I only want to know their hearts are pure like yours. I love you, and I desire greatly to have a family with you—wonderful woman."

She sat up, kissed his tears away. "You break my heart with these tender words. If they have a magnificent, unbreakable heart, it will be because of you." She brushed her lips across his and rubbed noses with him. "You love with the ferocity of a lion, and the softness of an angel's wings, grazing the clouds in the sky. It is so easy to love you and adore everything about you." She bared her bosom to him, offering her body to show him how devoted she was to him.

His warm hands cupped her breasts, and he massaged lightly, but he simply stared at her and did nothing more.

"Beautiful. So innocent and undefiled by the grittiness of this shitty world. How do you shield yourself this way? I am jaded and cynical until I am with you. You wash it all away." He shifted closer to her. "Not one soul in this world can do it the way you do."

"I can say the same about you. I was ready to give in, marry the king because I did not want to be burdened with fighting him off, but once I knew you returned feelings for me, I had to fight to have you."

"Isabella . . . When I touch you, do you feel it in your bones as I do? Please say it pulls at your core and you feel you will burst apart."

"Yes, my dearest—it is exactly like that every moment."

They held each other, breathed deep and took it all in.

In this den of Hell, they were whole—at one.

Henry had failed before he even began to punish them.

.

.

.

A fortnight had passed. Still no word from the king.

They sat in their filth, given occasional water and rags to clean off, but they were forbidden fresh clothes to change into.

She was still attired in the remnants of the torn, bedraggled wedding dress she wore with Henry.

The one ray of sunshine, other than being together, was Edward's leg seemed much better.

He was able to put more weight on it and walk around as long as he was cautious and she helped him.

His pride dissipated, and he was happy to have her be his crutch. He kissed the side of her head and told her she was impossible to resist.

"The king!" a voice boomed.

Edward immediately rammed his shirt over her head.

She was in her dress, but it was indecent as it hung off her body.

Plus, she had been nauseous lately and failed to eat much. Edward fretted and said she was losing weight. Unacceptable to her loyal husband.

_Clunk, clunk, clunk, splaaack._

The sound of the king's angry feet as he teetered through the corridor sent a chill down her spine.

What would he do? What could she say?

She wrapped her body around Edward. "Kiss me, and do not let go until he forces us apart."

"Yes," he replied, his lips finding hers. "Never letting go."

His arms were a pillar of strength around her. He shifted his weight to his good leg.

Smart man.

He kissed her and she parted her lips to accept his tongue inside.

"Move out of my way," Henry barked.

The door creaked open.

Edward ended the kiss and pushed her behind him a little, tensing as if ready to break into crushing blows with his fists.

There Henry stood, fatter than ever, his face ruddy and his eyes tortured.

"Isabella," he said, staring at only her, disregarding his brother completely.

"Majesty, thank you for allowing us to remain together." She curtsied then went right back to being chained to Edward's body. His muscles twitched and stiffened.

The tighter he held her, the louder his breathing became.

"I did it all for you," Henry told her.

Edward snorted. "Do not listen to him," he admonished her.

"We have little options. It is best we all communicate openly." She squeezed her husband's bones to her. He was precious, and she would die to keep at his side. Going to Henry's bed was no longer an option.

"I see you are standing, brother," Henry said. "I credit it to your lady for finding a way to nurse you back to health in the most adverse circumstances."

Edward leaned forward. "You of all people know of her healing influence with her golden heart and inspiring ideas. I cannot help but be exorcised of my demons when I am near her."

"You speak boldly for a man incarcerated," Henry replied.

"And you speak like a desperate man, still clinging to the hope he can win a woman who cannot be won." Edward's jaw clicked closed.

"Whatever anger you possess toward me, it does not help you." Henry pointed at her. "She is to be released and come to my side. You will stay here as was my original agreement with my bride."

"_My_ bride!" Edward yelled.

"I married her in the sight of God, and it was legal. And since you lie in sin with her, I have the law on my side to slaughter you if I so choose," the king said, spit spraying everywhere.

"Henry, you know it was not right. I am Edward's, and you forced me into your arms." She bowed her head and whimpered, "Besides, you would not remove a breeding woman, would you?"

Both Henry and Edward gasped, and then Edward twisted her around, shielded her from his brother completely.

"You are with child?" the king cried.

She moved around Edward to face the king. "'Tis true," she said softly. "Edward and I . . . Our seed found God's light, and culminated our love into a baby."

"You are certain?" Henry gaped.

"My body told me a few days ago, but I chose to ignore it. There is little I can do in this cell to manage a pregnancy in a healthy way, but it is nothing compared to lying, deceiving you and acting as if I want you as anything more than a friend. I do not love you, Henry. Not the way you wish."

Edward moved to stand in front of her again.

She let him and rested her cheek on Edward's back; her hands went to his shoulders.

"This is my child, and it is of royal blood. You would kill an innocent baby?" Edward placed his hands over hers.

It was comforting. She sighed low and heavy.

"I already said I would release her. You stay here." Henry's voice shook and his eyes twitched with doubt.

"My baby will not survive if I cannot eat due to grief—that is most assuredly what will transpire if you leave my husband here to languish without me." Isabella's voice broke.

"You cut me—pierce my heart, woman." Henry dropped his cane and moved toward her.

Edward back up, keeping a protective stance and continuing to hide her from the king.

"You will not touch my wife," Edward snarled.

"I will do anything I damn well please!" Henry stepped closer.

"God help me, I will break every bone in both your legs if you take one more step." Edward moved back once more.

"Christ almighty! Ahhhhhhrr!" Henry's fists clawed at his doublet and ripped it off, flinging it on the floor. "Let me touch her womb—see for myself that she speaks true. If I know she carries your babe, then I release you both, but you come to court and stay nearby. Both of you—indentured servants for life." He blinked with a wild look in his eyes. A caged animal would most certainly appear docile compared to him.

"You may touch her just this once and then never again. Swear it, and I will step aside," Edward said, his hands gripping hers into his shoulders harder.

Was he trying to anchor her to him?

"Will you be my nursemaid when I am ill?" Henry asked her, leaning to the side to catch her eye.

"Aye, Majesty. I can do that if Edward will be allowed to assist me." She sighed and leaned into Edward, inhaling his scent.

"Fine." Henry's nostrils flared and his face pinked.

"Fine?" Edward echoed.

"I said it, did I not? And my word is law?" Henry clapped his hands to his hips.

"Your cock is law, too. Should I be afraid _that_ law will override the spoken one?" Edward stared at him, unblinking.

"Edward—your mouth is what will determine your death, not me. You never stop speaking and saying vile things. I detest the way you speak to her; I abhor the things you say to me, your sovereign lord. You have no respect for God or his holy servants." Henry paused.

"And that is what I love about him. There is no pretense, Sire, and it is a rare quality he possesses that I cherish. Please, never shame him for it," she said, her voice soft. She slipped her hands out from under Edward's and moved around him.

She lifted the shirt enough to expose her belly.

It was flat as always.

She approached the king, the trust evident on her face.

"I will not harm you or this . . . _child_," Henry bit out, his face going grave at his final word.

Sorrow lanced through her, wedged its way into her heart. "I am sorry you did not have a whole house full of sons. You did not deserve to suffer this way." She cupped his cheek then dropped her hand when he gasped at her touch.

"I will touch you back now. Please do not cringe," Henry pleaded, his voice shaky with thick emotions.

"Please do feel the firmness of my womb. Press hard so you can feel how hard and swollen the organ is," she told him.

Edward's breathing escalated behind her and he was shifting about restlessly.

The king's warm, big hand alighted on her lower abdomen.

She smiled and her eyes softened.

"You will not feel it if you are this light of touch," she said then she put her hands over his and pressed really hard toward her spine.

"Is this painful?" Henry leaned away.

"No more than lying on the hard ground, Your Grace." She smirked.

"Forever the witty girl," he replied, smiling. "And I can feel it like a firm boulder in your belly. This is Edward's baby?"

"Yes, Sire. I do not lie." She blinked and pushed her belly further into his hand. "A life beats inside me, and it is because of Edward's pure unselfish love for me. If you love me like you profess you do, then you will support me, and him to keep me happy. That is what true love is." She released his hand and stepped away. "If Edward told me he had a change of heart and no longer desired me, I would let him go—not hound him. It would shred my heart and demons would gnaw at my soul, but I would pray for his happiness, that he would find a good woman to pamper him and keep his days filled with endless bliss."

Henry's face contorted in anguish and tears flooded his eyes. He turned away. "Isabella . . . I know you love me."

"I wish that were true so you could have some measure of peace, but I was merely being kind. There is a difference between being kind and loving you. I love Edward, not you."

He groaned and clutched at his chest. "You ruin me!"

"Were you any worse before you knew me? You poor, wretched man. You have been tromped on by abusive women, and I sorrow for your grief and heartache, truly." She joined Edward at his side and took his hand. "But I cannot fix you, contrary to both yours and Edward's belief. I hold no special elixir or power. Wish to God I did." She exhaled and her shoulders curled forward in relief. "Find happiness in your family, your children, your friends. And I hope you will count both Edward and I amongst those you enjoy and trust most. We will always be loyal to you and true. You can depend on us to support you and your queen."

Henry's head fell forward and he groaned.

"Very well. Come to court as I have said. We will find a way to live in harmony, but I want Edward out of my sight for now. I need time to . . ."

"Of course, brother. I will keep at a respectable distance at all times." Edward rushed forward and handed the king his cane.

"You are pardoned both if you keep under my watchful care, serve me and cause no trouble." Henry walked toward the exit, tapped on the door with his cane and left the second it was opened.

"Oh my God!" she shouted in an exultant praise of joy.

Edward picked her up for a second, grunted at the weight of it and set her down.

"No magic? I beg to differ. I do not know how you managed to soften a stone heart into a puddle, but you did. He melted under your presence, and now we are both free, will be well taken care of, and our babe will want for nothing!" He lowered himself down, kissed her belly repeatedly and rubbed his hands across it. "My child. My son—_Edward_!"

"A striking name for a strong little child." She beamed at him.

"And with a heart of gold to rival the heroes of the ages."

"A nephew to make the king proud, who does not need to bear the king's name like we had said many moons ago." Tears glistened in his eyes, and she adored this man more than ever. "I love you, and if you ever stop loving me, I may have to hound you ten times worse than Henry did me."

"God help me," he teased, chuckling. "Let us be happy that will never happen. It is an impossibility as assuredly as the sun will stop shining on you and your radiant perfection."

_January 28, 1547_

So many blessings had befallen Isabella Cullen in the three years they had been at court.

She suckled a new babe—a strong, vibrant girl, Abigail, and their son, Edward, was a terror, all but swinging from tapestry to tapestry, to the king's wicked delight.

Though she was daily surprised at how they all managed to co-exist in peace, the king would still sometimes shun Edward and have to escape his brother's presence.

She did not fault him for this, and respected his preference, but he understood, if he dismissed Edward it meant he effectively dismissed her as well. She went wherever her husband traversed, and neither her eyes nor Edward's, ever strayed from their spouse, unlike the other players at court.

They were an odd couple to be certain, and they were pleased to be so.

She sighed as she wandered down the corridor.

It was time to tell the King, but he was so sick—had been for three weeks now.

It tore her heart apart. Only four weeks ago they were laughing, walking the grounds together as friends, and she was helping him gain an appreciation for his own children. Never had she been talked about more than when she helped Henry get on the ground to play a game of cards with his youngest child on the rug.

It was considered cruel to indulge him in this manner, but she knew his days were limited as it was, so she allowed him to do it.

Harry would be upset with her, but there was the possibility having a reason to argue would help him get better?

Edward should already be in the king's private chambers, so she quickened her pace.

When she rapped at the door, her husband answered.

As her body was wont to do, it heated as she took in Edward's handsome face. Was there anyone as ethereal as him?

Not even Henry could have ever been this breathtaking.

"How is he faring?" She cupped his jaw and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Cantankerous and bickering like an old woman, but I am certain it will cease now that his favorite person is here." He motioned his head at her.

"Oh, please do flatter, dear sir. I have nothing but time and ego to waste." She batted her lashes at him.

He hugged her. "Stop being so tempting, wife. I have a mind to take you back to our bed right now and he can wait many hours for your visit."

She smacked his chest. "You were in me this morning, lest you forget, and I think you are determined to get me with child again as quickly as possible."

"A man can never have too many sons, as the king will attest. You would do well to heed his counsel in this regard." He pinched her ass.

She jumped and laughed.

He followed after her as she made her way back to the king.

"There she is. How long did I wait? It was agonizing," Henry teased. He smiled and then coughed, his face going pale.

"You are not well," she said, stepping forth and placing her palm on his forehead.

He gripped her wrist and this ominous look flashed in his eyes.

"You have something to say, then do it, but I do not want to be patronized and nursed as if I am at death's door." Henry's eyes narrowed at her.

Was he blaming her for something?

She sighed. "Very well." She pointed to his desk. "Did you get the papers I sent?"

The king nodded.

"And they have been gone through each with painstaking detail?" She set her hands on her waist.

"Aye, madame. Desist with your pragmatism. I know how to handle my affairs." He lunged forward in his chair.

She immediately went to his aid, and Edward did, too.

She knew that pained look meant his leg was aching and needed to be propped up.

Edward grabbed a bigger, more comfortable chair and she a pillow.

They situated him and instead of thanking them, Henry glowered.

"Do not dote!"

"I recall being told we were to serve you with our whole hearts until our dying day," she reminded him, her tone lighthearted.

"And I recall saying that because I was desperate to have any little bit of you I could. It is over. I do not want either of you here anymore." Henry gazed at the fire, his eyes glazed over and his face all tense and unmoving.

"You shut us out because you know what I do." She knelt before him. "Please, Majesty. Make sure all these wills are in order so the succession can take place smoothly if anything should happen to you. Promise us my Scottish relatives will never take power and force me in as well. If they do, they might rally and try to force Edward to be on the throne. And that would be the worst torture ever. As you love me as a loyal brother, you do not wish that for either of us. Take care of your own, as we have done for you." She stood, loomed over him and blinked.

Henry huffed. "Wicked woman, you never stop exerting control over me." He smirked and reached for her. "Hug me then leave. I will do all that is required for the good of my kingdom. You need never fear I would do that to either of you. My pride would not suffer it. I am not nearly as righteous as either of you, and I envy you that, too." He hiccuped a laugh. "My wickedness never ends." He patted his stomach. "Pride, envy, gluttony." He laughed harder for a moment then went melancholy. "Murder. I will be thrust to hell, and all my wives who have gone before me will drag me there by the hair. And I have nice red hair." He patted his head.

Edward chuckled. "God knows what is in your heart, and he loves you."

"Aye, my lord. Fear not. The good shepherd will be there to usher you into Heaven." She smiled.

"Thank you." Henry looked at them both in turn. "But I must be alone now."

He shooed them out the door.

That night, he was not present for dinner.

They both carried in his meal, and once in his chambers, they found him at the foot of his desk rolled onto his side. He looked pale and was covered with sweat.

"Henry," she said, her voice soft and barely audible.

Edward dropped to his side and felt his forehead.

"Henry," she repeated, setting aside the tray of food.

There was no answer.

Edward shook him.

Still. He was unmoving.

She leaned over and touched his hand. It was damp and cool to the touch.

"Harry?" her voice cracked.

Something was wrong.

Edward turned him over and she noticed the king's lips were blue, and he lacked breath.

"Harry!" she screamed.

He was unresponsive and his pupils dilated so large the blue of his irises were eclipsed by nothing but black.

She pounded on his chest. "No! You are the king of England, you cannot leave! You bring peace to this realm!"

There was shuffling of feet outside the door, and they tried to get in but she had locked it as her habit always made her do.

"Isabella!" Edward clutched her to his chest and dragged her away from the corpse next to them.

She wept onto his chest, gripped his vest.

"Call for the physician!" she howled.

"It is too late," Edward answered. "He is gone."

Footsteps retreated and nobody came for what seemed like an eternity.

When she thought she could cry no longer, the door opened and in walked the current laundress, keys in hand, and the physician at her side.

Two of Harry's most loyal servants moved Isabella out of the way. Edward took her back in arms.

She watched in horror as the physician finished his examination and pronounced the king to be gone.

She ran out of the room and went to her own chambers, unsure of what to do now.

Would they be cast out of court?

What of their children?

Did she even want to stay with the great Harry gone?

Her mind warred over the idea of finally being free and having a choice of where to live and the notion of staying, to honor a great man that swallowed the dregs of bitterness all because he had no choice but to be king.

It was thrust upon him when his brother died.

That could have been her beloved Edward. It could have been her.

She ground her teeth and a whiny, shrill sound lifted out of her and filled the air.

Her brain worked at an impressive rate. She had to leave. They had to go.

Who knew if Henry proclaimed her son as a possible legitimate heir after Henry's son, Edward.

She grabbed armfuls of sumptuous clothes out of the closet and heaved them onto the bed.

"Darling, what the devil are you doing?" Edward approached her.

"We are unsafe here. We no longer have his protection," she said, bustling about, refusing to look at him.

"We are safer than ever. Did you not care to know his will?"

"No!" she shouted and stormed about the room, throwing items at the bed.

"Stop." He gripped her by the shoulders and sat her down on the mattress.

She stared at the floor.

He tilted her head up.

"My brother loved you. He cared about me as well."

"I know this," she whimpered, tears drifting down her cheeks.

"And he knew you were honest when you pleaded for him to leave us out of his will."

She nodded and bit her lip.

"We are free to go. I want to, but not like this."

"How then?"

"With you happy. With you at peace. We are not mentioned at all. And my lands are now restored to me along with title. They were to be held until his death." He kissed her.

"Truly, husband?"

"Truly, wife," he said.

He grabbed one of the clothes brushes off the bed, ran it across her collarbone and purred, "And you will no longer work for anyone but me and my pleasure."

"I am yours and yours alone?" Her voice was breakable like fine porcelain.

"Aye, that you are." He ran the brush across her right breast.

She fought off a shiver.

"By God and my right, you were ever my first wife, not my seventh like Henry would have made you. I did not have to hide you away or make a farce of your good name."

She tipped her head back as he rolled the brush over her neck.

"Because you were all I have wanted. I gave you anything I had, and though most of the time, it was never enough, I could never give you what he could in terms of untold wealth, you have been loved by my entire heart, soul, and body."

"You are the reason I could love the king as a devoted servant. All for you and your happiness," she said.

"He will always be your king, but I will always be in here." He kissed her heart and she melted into him, never the same again.

"God and my right—you are mine—and no one can take that away—_ever_!" she breathed and pushed him onto the bed as she prepared to worship his body, thanking God Henry allowed her to have this perfect man. She did not deserve him, but she would try to be worthy.

God made it her right.

**A/N:**

**Thank you so much to all of you for reading, reviewing and rec'ing this story. It really meant a lot to me.**

**I can't believe this story is over, but the good news is I'm already halfway done writing another story I'll begin posting very soon.**

**Here's the longer version of the summary for my new story and I'll post a teaser for chapter 1 on my blog if you're interested in knowing a little more:**

**Breaking Blood on Alabaster:**

AH ExB It's 1899 in New York City, and a young widow has bills and responsibilities to attend to. What will she do to the owner of New York Times when he refuses to sign for her bank note on her weekly wages she simply must have? Will she drag him to the lower east side and teach him a lesson, or tease him with her body until he can't take anymore? All good ideas… only she hadn't planned on this man knowing how to take absolute control of her mind and her senses regardless of how hard she tries to resist him. BDSM themes, blood lust and fisticuffs ensue. Hold on to your bowler hats and knickers—this is one clash of the classes that produces more than sparks.

**Chanse**


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